Delphian City
by Boom-Boom Jones
Summary: There are dark secrets in Delphian City. Edward Cullen is one of them. AH/AU OOC Supernatural/Fantasy/Sci-Fi minus the vamps.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Stephanie Meyer and the Twilight Saga.

This fic is not beta'd, so please forgive any errors. The location is entirely fictional as well as other certain things coming up. Thanks so much for reading.

* * *

**_*Prologue*_**

Once a year, the carnival comes to Delphian.

When those trucks that tow limbs of thrill rides are spotted driving down Continental, excitement spreads through the city like wildfire. Even I can feel it. By the time dusk rolls around a cacophony of lights pulse, generators hum—a temporary heart that draws everyone in. When they leave they're filled with nostalgia and maybe even hope, returning subsequent days as long as the carnival lives on. It is a consuming thing, like an addiction; I can see it in their eyes, their smiles.

I lick powdered sugar from my thumb then toss the greasy paper plate into a trash can. As far back as I can remember funnel cakes have always been my favorite. My dad used to bring me here as a child and we'd always followed the same routine: share a funnel cake, ride the Zipper, the Ferris Wheel, the Mixer, win a goldfish, eat another funnel cake. He'd drive me home to my mother's, carry me up the porch over his shoulder because even though I'd fought it, sleep had won out every time. Every morning I'd hoped to find him sitting at our table reading the paper, drinking coffee, but he'd never stayed.

I've been here for an hour now and have counted more than fifteen cops patrolling through the crowd; who knows how many are stationed along the perimeter. What they don't realize is there's no threat tonight.

I recognize all of them, the cops, but none know exactly who I am. We make eye contact; I have no reason to avoid them. To them I am nothing more than the college kid who delivers sandwiches to the station every Thursday at noon. My arms always loaded with brown paper bags containing Marie's finest culinary creations for the men in blue. The one who just nodded at me likes tuna on rye, no tomato, extra mayo—his partner wishes he'd eat a mint afterward. Maybe I'll throw one in next week.

Striped tents are scattered throughout, some hiding in the shadows of tall rides while others stand proud, pulling curious patrons in. I, myself, am pulled toward one which is half hidden, partly illuminated in quick succession by its neighbor's flashing neon sign. The irony of this tent's locale does not escape me, so the draw is even more tempting.

I push aside the canvas flap and it's oddly cool in here, the din of the carnival muffled. A woman tells me to sit. The whole scene is predictable: lighted candles, colored scarves, a frail, old woman with a weak voice sitting behind a crystal ball.

"Have a seat, boy," she says again, and I do. "Twenty-five dollars before you give me your hand."

I reach into my pocket then slide two twenties toward her. She glances down, lifts a white brow. "I don't have change."

"I don't need any."

She takes my hand, palm up, and grips it tightly between hers. She drags her nail over the creases, tilts it to the left then right. "Why do you come to me?" she asks, still staring at my palm.

"Not sure. Curiosity?" I say, testing her, and she nods.

"I see lack of sleep, stress, roast beef. You're going to get an A on a science paper…What is it? Biomechanics?"

_Not bad. _

"What? I'm not going to win the lottery?" I ask, but my sarcasm doesn't ruffle her.

"No, boy. You have everything you need, don't you?"

"Do I? You tell me," I say. She rubs her thumb against her fingers; I slide her another twenty.

She regards me for a long while then smiles, though her confident expression is somewhat sickening. As she begins to speak there is a shift in the room, in the air, reaching deep into my bones because she knows, she fucking knows exactly why I'm here and _who_ I am.

"It won't help, that thing you've been working on. Things will get worse, boy. The demon that lives within you will bring destruction and death to your city." She pauses, scraping her nail deep into my palm. "There's nothing you can do. No matter how hard you fight it, you will lose."

I swallow, close my eyes and for a second there's only ringing in my ears. The old woman pinches the side of my hand, hard, but I don't flinch. When I open my eyes she stares at me devoid of emotion. All traces of bullshit are gone, yet there is something in her eyes that flicker, like a cat about to kill its prey.

After a moment, the old woman breaks into a throaty laugh. "Go ahead, ask. Ask me what you really want to know." I don't have to; the answer is written in every wrinkle that's etched into her decrepit face.

But I can't stop myself. "Will she survive it?"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

I am invincible.

My blood sizzles as it races through my veins in a glorious, indefinable way. Pumped by a muscle that can be destroyed in a blink, it holds all power over life and death, love and grief. It is the greatest paragon of this world. I feel every slow thump and quick beat of its beautiful opus and I breathe.

I am so very much alive.

He's quivering beneath my hold, this scum. I could reach into his chest, destroy his heart in a blink, faster than a blink—how easy it would be—but I won't.

I'm not a murderer.

"Are you proud of your accomplishments?" I whisper into his ear. Standing behind him, my grip doesn't slacken on his throat, and I push the tip of his knife a little further into the fat of his middle, but don't break the skin. I don't need his tool to get the job done, but there are those who dwell in the land of stupidity that need a basic visual, a step-by-step tutorial of what I'm capable of. Anything more advanced, a display of my true talents might seem like a dream, and that wouldn't work well at all. I want them to be clear about our tryst together.

He's unable to answer, and even under this black sky I see a tinge of blue forming on his lips. That's all right; it was a rhetorical question anyway.

His pants are wet around his crotch. _Pussy_.

"Tell me, do you think the woman whose house you broke into was this frightened? What do you suppose she thought when you tied her up, gagged her, traced the features of her face with the point of your blade? Hm?" I move the knife to his cheek, drag it around his mouth, the side of his nose, under his eye. I'm only mimicking what he did to her. "You liked it, though, didn't you? Bet your adrenaline was pumping while you teased her. It's good to be in control, isn't it? Yes? I agree; it's an amazing feeling." I chuckle behind my mask, and he grunts, squirms a little. I loosen my grip enough to allow him to breathe my air.

"Too bad you have none now," I say, spinning him, slamming his body into the brick wall. And because I enjoyed the sound of _my_ air leaving his lungs, I do it again…then again. He starts to beg as I twist his arms up behind his back while shoving, scraping the side of his face against the brick.

"I'm sorry!" he screeches, though his words sound distorted while his face is trapped between the wall and my hand.

"Are you? Are you really?" I ask, bending his arm until his shoulder pops. He screams. "Oops. Don't pass out on me now."

The sirens are faint enough so that just I can hear them. I have five, maybe six minutes until they arrive. He begins to sag and this pisses me off—I can do so much more with all the time I have left.

"You're rather boring," I tell him, though he doesn't register what I'm saying. I shake him, rattle him alert, and stab his knife into his shirt. "Wake up, you piece of shit. We're going for a ride."

Hoisting him up by his collar, I scale the wall, dragging him behind me. He's a good 200 plus pounds and since he's flailing his arm and legs it's slowing me down. I have four minutes.

We're thirty stories high, wind whistling in a constant gust at us. I dangle him over the edge, swinging him like a pendulum.

"So, Vlad, how do you like the view of the city?"

"You're crazy, you freak! Bring me up! Look! The cops are coming! I'll turn myself in, just bring me up!"

Lifting him so we're eye level, even though he can't actually see my eyes, I pull the knife from his shirt. His one arm hangs in an awkward way, but with the other he holds it in front of him as if to protect himself. Like that's a possibility. I'm guessing Vlad is the king of those who dwell in the land of stupidity, or at the very least he's pretty high up in ranks. Inane or simply slow, Vlad's actions are unforgivable, so I'll risk his recall for what I'm about to do.

In the palm of my hand, I balance his knife by the blade.

The cops are two blocks away.

The steel melts, expanding until a translucent barrier of liquid silver separates him from the concrete below. His eyes are wide, bulging from their sockets, and he starts to beg all over again, yelling, "Bring me up! I'll do anything! Please, _please_!"

One block.

I jut him out over the edge. "No." And then I drop him.

He falls like a stone.

His screams pierce through alleys, rivaling the sirens, and throughout the buildings affected by his panic, windows light up haphazardly. Few people are curious enough to look out. Others are too afraid; they don't need to be.

He trails the liquid silver, grappling at nothing but air. I imagine he's crying and pissing himself again.

Three then four police cars turn onto the street, screeching to a stop at the mouth of the alley. Their headlights fixed on the wall of the building on which I stand. Right before Vlad hits the ground, I flick my wrist and seal him to the wall with the silver, leaving his head exposed. The cops don't have much time to free him before it solidifies completely.

"God damn it!" one of them shouts. They look up, but I'm already gone.

By the time I get to my building, the smell of bread wafts through the air. Bakers and garbage collectors have started their days. Bundles of newspapers are being tossed in front of newsstands, sharing headlines that read Delphian City has a newly appointed Police Commissioner.

Sliding through my window, the first rays of sun appear, changing the inky sky to a morning indigo, and as each second passes the sky turns brighter and brighter. In this new light I am a contradiction. No more than a piece of the night that should be tucked away with nightmares, but I regret nothing.

My suit, entirely black, conceals every part of me, molding to my body like a second skin. Though, when I peel it away a part of me dissolves. I can no longer feel each beat of my heart or the beautiful life that spreads through me. Once again, I am human.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_**Vanquish Strikes Again**_

_~Angela Weber, staff reporter_

_Early yesterday morning, with the help of Delphian's own vigilante, Vanquish, police apprehended Vladimir Petrescu, a mid-level thief who has been linked to several robberies throughout the city. In the sixty-four hundred block of Allegiant Square, police were stunned to find Petrescu adhered to the side of an abandoned building by a solid silver-like substance. This is not the first time Vanquish has left this sort of calling card. It took nearly six hours for a crew of construction workers to cut through the silver and free Petrescu. Petrescu was immediately taken to a local hospital for examination but released just hours later. He is being held in the city jail awaiting arraignment._

_A spokesperson from the Delphian City police department states that though they are grateful Petrescu is off the streets, it will cost the city tens of thousands of dollars in clean up and overtime fees due to Vanquish's unconventional methods. The same spokesperson also states once Mayor Black swears in former Washington D.C. police captain, Charles Swan as the new Police Commissioner, Vanquish's antics will no longer be tolerated._

_Petrescu preyed upon unsuspecting women who lived alone, usually entering their residences through an unlocked window or door. Petrescu tied up his victims before ransacking their homes, but as if that wasn't enough for this confessed criminal Petrescu tormented these defenseless women with knives, leaving lifelong scars on some. It remains to be seen how Swan's and Mayor Black's strategies will affect Delphian. Will they truly change our city so the need of a single vigilante with unfathomable abilities won't be needed in the foreseeable future? Or is it possible they'll coax the mysterious man in black to come out of hiding and work with them? _

_In the meantime, thank you, Vanquish. This reporter will sleep soundly tonight._

A man dressed in an expensive suit folds the newspaper and tucks it under his arm. He didn't seem to notice me peering down, reading the article—too caught up in shaking his head and scowling as he read, I guess.

We stand shoulder to shoulder amid this crowd that has gathered outside City Hall as officials and company take their respective places at the top of the steps. We are packed on this street like cattle led to slaughter, though we're all here of our own volition. There is a low buzz that travels through the crowd that's unmistakably derived of wonder, mostly everyone questioning what their lives will be like once Swan is in charge. But the well-off gentleman to my right with the newspaper under his arm wears a sure grin. He scowled at my "antics." Of course he did.

Not everyone shares Angela Weber's opinion about me. Either way, I don't really care. My reasons are purely selfish. I'm not a man on a mission to clean up the filth as some would bill me as, but if I happen to stumble upon a low-life or two in the process, well, then it sucks to be them.

So they can give me a ridiculous pseudonym and call me a vigilante or a superhero or a menace. Whatever helps them get through the day. The thing is no matter what they say or do or promise, they won't be able to stop me.

Mayor Black taps on a microphone. His wife, Sue, and son, Jake (who's one of the few decent cops on the force) sit behind him. Judge Aro Demaricus sits between the Blacks and Swan and his family, but the podium blocks my view of Swan. I shove my way through the mass of bodies to get a better look.

I've done some research on Charles Swan. He has a spotless record, respected by all. He earned a medal of valor after the attack on D.C. years ago. His wife hasn't worked a day in her life, devoted to her family and volunteering. Swan's daughter is in her third year of college, majoring in Education and, apparently, is a big volunteer like her mom. I wonder if it took a little or a lot of convincing on the mayor's behalf to get Swan to move his family here. After what went down with former Commissioner Caius—racketeering, fraud—Swan's got some pretty big expectations to satisfy. Maybe he'll leave me be for the time being so I can do what I need to do.

Mayor Black smiles wide, his chest puffed out with pride. "Welcome, citizens of Delphian City. This is a monumental day for us all…"

My stance is rigid, my arms crossed over my chest, as I listen to him drone on about past, present and future. Soon his words become a hum in my ears as I focus on Demaricus and Swan. If my body is rigid, theirs is outright frozen. I get the feeling they didn't get off on a great start together. _Huh_.

I look at Mrs. Swan, the daughter, Isabella, and the two are smiling, genuinely. They glance at each other every so often. Mrs. Swan pats her daughter's hand when the mayor introduces Swan and they stand, taking their places alongside him. The crowd claps, and some cheer.

Judge Demaricus asks Swan to place his hand on the bible he holds in his, and the swearing in begins.

All eyes are on Swan. He's calm up there, proud, like he's finally found home. His voice doesn't quaver out of nervousness when he repeats the oath. Instead his voice is strong, full of conviction.

My periphery is full of smiling, hopeful faces, but I scan those on stage, searching for a chink in the armor. Aside from whatever is going on between Demaricus and Swan, the rest bask in joy. My eyes drift from Jake to Mrs. Black to Isabella to Mrs. Swan and back to Isabella.

She tucks a piece of her brown hair behind her ear. Her legs are long. She quickly looks out into the crowd, grins, looks at me, looks back at her father, and then side-glances me. She's got great legs.

I drop my arms and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. She's still looking toward me. I cock my head, roll back on my heels. She lifts her eyebrows, shakes her head and then returns her attention to the ceremony.

She doesn't look at me again.

* * *

Rose lives an hour outside the city, but sitting in the back of a cab that reeks of pine air freshener and the driver's body odor has made it feel like two.

"I'll be a little while. You can park over there," I tell the driver, pointing to the visitor's section of the parking lot.

"Dude, I ain't got all day to wait for you," he says.

_Dick._

I hand him a hundred dollar bill. "I'll be out in a little while."

He snaps the bill, holds it up to the light, and I walk toward the entrance.

"You got thirty minutes. I ain't waiting longer than that."

"Yes, you will," I yell over my shoulder.

At reception, I'm greeted by Shelly's cheery voice. "Edward! Long time no see."

"I'm here every Sunday, Shelly. You know that."

"Oh, I know," she says, waving her hand in the air. She pushes the visitor log toward me and hands me a pen. "But sometimes these weeks feel longer than they are."

"Yeah, like the cab ride I just took."

"Was it bad? Did you run into traffic?"

"No, it was fine. I think the cabbie just doesn't believe in personal hygiene." Shelly grimaces, and I hand her back her pen. "I'll see you on my way out," I say then walk through the metal detector.

I don't do it on purpose, but I keep my head down as I walk toward the elevator. Even in the confinement of the wood paneled box, I only look up to make sure I hit the right button for her floor, like I refuse to accept where my sister lives now.

Her room never changes. Why I'm surprised by this, I don't really understand, but I always am. The walls are painted pale yellow with pictures of us as kids tacked to them. There are a few of our mom, too, but I refused to put up any of our dad.

There are always fresh flowers on the table by the solitary window that overlooks the grounds and the TV in the corner is turned on as well, but the volume is low. I've put as many of her personal things in here that I was allowed, but space is limited due to the size of her room and the machines helping to keep her alive.

My sister was forced to watch them murder our mother, and then they turned on her. My dad, too busy or wherever the fuck he was, never came back for my mother's funeral. I still haven't heard from him.

I'm supposed to meet with Rose's doctor today so he can tell me again that she's not going to wake up from the coma. He can go fuck himself.

She doesn't look helpless or even sick, lying in her bed. She looks to be asleep, so that's what I tell myself to get through this every Sunday.

I give Rose all the details of my week, talk to her about my classes, read to her. Emmett comes in to check her IV. He's a nurse who's worked here for years, and ever since Rose was admitted thirteen months ago, he's sort of been her personal caretaker. I trust him completely.

Emmett stays for about twenty minutes and we watch a baseball game that's on. We tell Rose the stats of the players as they come to bat because it's something she'd want to know. He thinks I don't see it, but when Emmett looks at Rose there's more than empathy in his eyes. I don't know how it's possible but I think he loves my sister.

The worst part of my Sundays is saying goodbye to her, because I never know if it will be the last time. The machines keep her breathing, but what if? As much as I hate it, I have to go. I have to if I'm going to find the people who hurt her.

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The morning sky presses down, gray, ominous, and wet.

Protecting themselves with newspapers and umbrellas, people shuffle by me on the sidewalk. My head is down, shoulders hunched and hands firmly in my pockets, I walk a straight line as I make my way to Marie's Deli.

When it rains, they are not polite. They rush by, sometimes knocking into shoulders or arms—mine included—to get to their destination as if it is acid dripping from the sky. No apologies, as though you were at fault for blocking their path. People are inherently self-centered creatures.

At times, I wonder why I bother.

I would rather be standing on any one of the rooftops of the massive buildings that dwarf us down here on the ground. Up there I am free. I can do things and see things and feel things that I cannot down here. But up there, to those who are down here, I am now, officially, a criminal.

Swan has issued a warrant for my arrest.

I duck under the red and white striped awning of the deli then push through the door, the jingle of its bell drowned out by the chatter inside. There's a long line of customers in front of the glass case, waiting to place their orders. Pushed against the opposite wall are small tables, though they're hardly occupied.

Bacon and yeast permeate the air of this small space, and I take my place in line behind a woman—she's maybe 40, maybe 30—who is dressed a little too classy for this humble section of town. I've heard the food here is delicious, worth the twenty minute cab ride from the East Side, but that's not why I came.

The woman—blonde hair down to the middle of her back, tall, statuesque—turns, and I catch her profile. I know who she is: Tanya Conley, District Attorney. For someone who is as wealthy and successful as she, having a personal driver and a small fleet of associates catering to her every whim, the food must be very, very good for her to be here in the flesh. Either that, or her purpose is something else entirely.

She meets my eyes, hers travelling down and back up again. Tanya Conley is more beautiful in person than she is on television. She is almost as tall as I am in her fancy shoes with suggestive heels, but I don't move under her scrutiny. She looks me up and down once more and then she turns back around.

The line moves quickly.

"Good Morning, Marie. I'll take an egg white, turkey bacon, and Swiss on wheat. To go, please," she says.

"Morning to you, Ms. Conley. Got that?" Marie says to the guy working the grill behind her. He raises his hand, waving a greasy spatula. "Surprised to see you in here—weather's just awful outside."

"It is. Sometimes it's good to get out, though. So, how do you like having your son as our new Commissioner? He's going to do great things for our city."

_This_ is my reason for being here.

Marie wipes her hands with the bottom of her apron. "I'm very proud. Very proud, indeed."

Tanya hands a few dollars to Marie then drops her change into a glass tip jar. "He's not wasting any time, is he? I have to say, I'm impressed his first act is to get that vigilante off the streets. Our citizens are in capable hands, Marie," she says with a knowing wink.

I want to laugh.

"That we are," Marie says. She stands there, unwavering, offering nothing more than gracious answers while Tanya continues her fishing expedition for an old woman's reactions. Marie hands Tanya her breakfast. "Have a nice day, Ms. Conley."

"Same to you, Marie." Tanya brushes by me, head held confidently high. As she leaves all eyes watch her push through the door. Her record is remarkable and though she will never have the chance to prosecute me in court, gauging the expressions on these people's faces, Tanya is off to a good start campaigning my demise. Best of luck, Ms. Conley.

"What can I get for you?"

"What's good?" I ask.

"Why everything, of course." The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she smiles. "Since you're a first timer, how 'bout I whip up our specialty?"

"Yeah? Alright, thanks," I say, reaching for my wallet. "Can I get a coffee, black, too, please?"

Marie nods, pours out a tall cup, and then hands me back my change. Following suit, I drop it in the tip jar.

"You're new around here?" she asks, after taking the next customer's order.

"No. I spend most of my time on the East Side…It's closer to school. I'm taking a few classes at DU...A buddy of mine recommended this place," I say, which is partly true.

"Then please tell your friend thank you. Just for that, I'll throw in a couple of cinnamon rolls for you to share with him. Here ya go, sweetheart. You know, my granddaughter is also a student at DU."

"Yeah, I read that in the paper. Is it always this busy?" I ask, gesturing toward a couple walking in.

"Oh, it certainly is. After you taste that sandwich you'll see why," she says and I laugh. "But since Charlie, excuse me, Commissioner Swan happens to be my son, people have gotten curious."

"I'm sure the food will have them coming back. Thank you, Marie," I say, lifting the bag. "I cannot wait to become a fan of your culinary talents."

"My goodness," she says, hand to chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. I try to make it a habit to know everyone who walks through that door."

"It's Edward. Edward Cullen."

Three times I go back to the deli and with each visit I get to know Marie a little bit more. I've earned enough of her trust for her to offer me a part-time job delivering sandwiches, and even lending me her car to do it. She's way too kind, and I almost feel guilty about deceiving her, but she's my in and it makes my job so much easier.

* * *

My arms laden with brown paper bags, I walk up to the secretary's desk. She's this tiny thing with hair so blonde and blue eyes so big she looks like one of the dolls my sister used to play with when we were kids.

"Hey, Janie."

"Right on time," she says, pointing to her watch. It's Thursday, close to noon so they're already expecting me. Janie acts as if this is the highlight of her day which by the guffaws that are coming from down the hall, it probably is. "That smells so good."

"Tell me about it," I say, dropping the bags on her desk. A couple of cops walk up and peek inside one of the bags.

"Thanks, kid," the stocky one with graying hair says. "Mind bringing these back?"

"Sure, no problem." I look back at Janie. "Salad as usual?" She nods and I pull out her lunch. "See ya on my way out," I tell her then hoist up the bags.

I drop their orders on their desks, and as I do I look into the eyes of every cop I pass, studying them, memorizing their movements, searching for tells. I smile and nod, play the young kid in awe of them, laughing at their stupid jokes. I wonder if they do anything other than sit around on their asses and bullshit with one another all day. From what I can see, Swan hasn't made much of a difference in here.

It's been weeks since I've worn my suit, and my skin itches for its contact; I need to feel it again. Soon. I've been laying low, allowing these jackasses to be more of a presence in the city. Letting them think they have more power than they do. They've arrested a few petty thieves who've made it easy for them—because the focus has been on me these lowlifes have been careless.

You're welcome.

Tonight, though, I think I'm going to play.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

There is a brief moment when I can't breathe. My lungs constrict and every last molecule of air is sucked out of me. It is a natural reaction for the body to fight this—gasping and clawing at one's throat, struggling to inhale. I was brought to my knees the first time, but now I am stronger. I close my eyes and wait out the seconds for it to pass.

My mind goes blank then spins with all the memories I've ever had. Shocking and pleasant and resentful.

My blood races, boils; the rate of my heart builds and builds until near explosion. Every muscle sparks and I catch fire, until the flames smolder. All of it, all of me contained by an electric current that runs through my body.

Each time I die until I am born, divinely.

Standing in the center of my apartment, I hold my arms out to my sides, letting my head fall back, flexing my hands, stretching my muscles that still tingle, and I wait.

On the side of being born comes a flash of euphoric peace, and I've learned to allow it to soak in because it, too, passes within seconds.

When I look into the mirror the reflection staring back is not me or…_Vanquish_—God, how I hate that name—but that of a shadow, a supreme being that has the power to destroy. Pressing my palm to the mirror, it splinters at my will, cracks bleeding out from under the center of my hand. I could easily destroy everything, if I wanted.

I climb out of my window to the roof of my building. There's no moon out tonight. No clouds either—a rarity for Delphian. If the city were to sleep, turn off all its lights, I imagine there would be thousands, millions of brilliantly shining stars to be seen. But as it is, there are few in the distance that are mere specks of white, unnoticeable and certainly disregarded.

Below, people scatter around like ants, cars move and honk in annoyance like toys. "Look up," I whisper to them, though they can't hear me. "Look at me. I'm the only one who can save you."

Is that what I want? To be their savior?

At times I do, but I have to remind myself that they are not my purpose even if that is the intention of all of this, and honestly I don't know what all of _this_ is for. No instructions came with this suit when I found it outside my door a few months after my mother was killed. A box wrapped in black paper with a note that read_ Edward, Power and knowledge are dangerous things. Wear this and you'll know what to do._

Bullshit.

I thought it was a joke at first, but since I knew no one in Delphian, there was a fleeting second I thought that maybe…

I let it sit on the floor of my apartment for days, and then one night I had a few drinks and slipped it on. I nearly broke everything in my apartment.

It's taken a year to become accustomed to the abilities it gives me: strength, speed, manipulation of properties. So whomever is responsible for bestowing me this glorious thing, I often wonder… Are you watching me now? And if you are, tell me who the fuck you are and what you want from me.

I break into a run and soundlessly leap from one rooftop to the next, forgetting the whys and whos if only for a moment. I just run with no direction of where I'm going.

* * *

My alarm sounds, but that's not what wakes me. I jolt up in bed, my stomach churning, my face and back covered in sweat, sharp pains stabbing at my temples. I try to open my eyes, but the pain…I crack them open, slowly…_Jesus, what the_…my vision is blurred at first and then everything shimmers then darkens then shimmers again until my surroundings come into focus. I throw up, violently. There's no way I can make it to the bathroom because it keeps coming and I'm now on all fours heaving the contents of my stomach in the middle of my bed until there's nothing left.

And then it's over. The pain in my head and nausea gone as if neither were there to begin with.

I wipe my mouth with the hem of my shirt and turn off my alarm, and I don't understand what just happened since I feel perfectly fine now. Gathering the blanket off my bed, I rack my brain for a solution and the only thing that might make sense is that this is a reaction from the suit. But even that doesn't make sense as I've never had one before, aside from putting it on. Last night, I…

I don't remember last night.

Something's wrong and it's not that I don't remember a thing after jumping buildings, but I have an innately bad feeling that something isn't right.

The phone rings and rings before someone finally picks up. "Shelly, it's Edward. Is she okay? Rose. Is everything alright?"

"_Edward, what's wrong? You sound panicked."_

"Is she okay!"

"_Yes, she's fine. What's going on with you?"_

"Are you sure?"

"_Of course I'm sure,"_ she says and the line cracks with static. _"Dr. Gerandy…here…and Emmett…"_

"Shelly…"

"_Reading now…so don't—" _

"Shelly. Hello? _Shelly!_"

I splash water on my face and quickly throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. In the corner of my room, my suit is crumpled on the floor. I'd get to the hospital faster by wearing it than by taking a cab, but I can't risk being seen and there's the possibility I will have another reaction from it, if that's what happened.

I call Marie to ask if I can borrow her car. Outside my building, I hail a cab, tell him I'll pay him generously if he can get me to the South Side in ten minutes. The driver speeds down 10th Avenue and from the back seat, I look out the window. It's business as usual, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Even the sun is attempting to burn through the hazy sky, but I can't completely concentrate on what is or is not off anywhere but at the hospital. I won't be able to think straight until I see for myself that Rose is all right.

"If I get a ticket," he says. He quickly glances at me through his rearview mirror then back to the road. I don't answer.

We pull up outside the deli and I throw a few twenties into the front seat. Inside, Marie is behind the counter and Jasper is, as usual, tending grill.

"Oh, Edward," she says. "You look awful. Are you sick, sweetheart?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. In fact, you look downright troubled. Wanna tell me about it?"

I shake my head, holding out my hand for the keys. "There's nothing to tell," I say. She reaches into her pocket then drops them in my palm. "Thank you." Marie squeezes my hand, the ridges of the keys pressing into my skin.

"Edward, what you do outside running deliveries for me is none of my concern, but the minute you bring anything into this deli that does not belong here…I trust you, so please don't betray me."

"It's not like that," I promise. My heart hammers inside my chest; I don't have time to for this, but I don't move either and stare her straight in the eye. I need her.

"Okay then. Replace whatever gas you use and park it in the alley when you're through."

Jasper offers to go with me. We've spoken few words to each other since I've worked here; Jasper's not the vocal type, so I'm surprised he says anything at all. "Ah, no. Thanks though."

Thirty minutes later, I scribble my name on the visitor's log, ignoring Shelly's questions about my odd behavior and run through the metal detector and up the steps to my sister's floor.

I need to see her and then I'll try to figure out what happened to me last night and this morning.

Her door is at the end of the hall and it's wide open; a stream of sunlight hits the floor like a beacon. As I get closer, I hear a woman speaking gently and a lump lodges in my throat because her voice sounds so much like Rose's.

I grab the doorjamb, staring at the back of the woman with long brown hair who's sitting on the edge of my sister's bed. She brushes the ends of Rose's hair as she says something about a tire swing. She sets the brush down on the table then takes her finger and traces Rose's forehead, gliding it over her cheek. It is a gesture that is too familiar and wholly inappropriate because this woman does not work at the hospital.

The wood disintegrates beneath my hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I say loud enough to startle her, and she whips around. It's Isabella Swan. "Get out."


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you, Katinki and Rochelle Allison for sending readers this way, and thanks to everyone for stopping by.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

I don't know what is more shocking. The fact that Isabella Swan stands next to Rose's bed with her arms defiantly crossed over her chest like a petulant child or that I've just turned the wood of the doorjamb into dust.

I keep my hand in place, staring down Isabella. "You need to leave."

"I wasn't doing anything wrong," she says. She drops her hands and turns to pick up her coat and purse from the chair. Isabella walks right up to me, her mouth pursed and eyes narrowed—she's a brave little thing, but she has no right to be angry with me. "I volunteer here. I was reading to her. I have experience with patients who…are like Rose. Emmett's the one who suggested I sit with her—ask him."

"Like Rose? Really?" I say, yet she stands stock still, entitlement oozing from her every pore and it pisses me off. "You don't know a damn thing, sweetheart. And, what? You read a few paragraphs from a book, brush their hair, and you call that experience? Tell me something, Mother Teresa wannabe, ever bring someone back from the dead with…" The words are out of my mouth too fast. "Go home, Isabella. Find someone else to _help_ so you can make yourself feel better."

Callous? I don't care. Isabella can run home to daddy and cry all night long about the mean man who hurt her feelings. She doesn't belong here. And Emmett, he needs to be reminded to check with me if there's a change in Rose's routine. He can tell me how Miss Swan is all good intentions on paper, but that means nothing to me. _I_ don't know her and she certainly cannot know us.

Incredulity replaces the sure expression she wore just seconds ago, and even though she tries to hide it, it's there. It's in her eyes and the shape of her mouth. She swallows. "Who are you, exactly?" she asks as I tower over her. As if she's fulfilling some sense of duty over my sister.

My hand remains, hiding the damage I've caused to the doorjamb—I haven't forgotten about that nor have I forgotten that last night is still a blank; this entire conversation is wasting my time.

"I'm her brother. And you're the Commissioner's daughter who is stepping way over the line."

She presses her lips together and blinks, like this information is more surprising than my accusations. "I didn't realize," she says quietly. For a split-second I wonder how long this little girl before me has practiced composure—an art form I'm sure she's spent countless hours performing considering who her father is—because right now she's fighting hard to maintain it. She nods once and smiles weakly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." Isabella motions toward the hall and I step to the side, letting her by.

Rose is fine, I tell myself as I eye the steady pace of lines on the monitors that peak and fall, convincing me there's still life inside her.

Behind me, I feel Isabella hesitating. I sense her close proximity to me, and dip my head, waiting for her to leave. I refuse to turn around. Won't give her the satisfaction that this was all some sort of misunderstanding. An assumption that this was simply an awkward and unlikely first meeting and in the end will be forgiven and forgotten. My apologies for coming off a little strong. We really should be friends. Want to meet up for a coffee sometime between classes?

Go, Isabella. We won't be sharing a latte.

But then like a karmic slap in the face it occurs to me that I work for her grandmother, the woman who places me easily and without suspicion inside the police department.

"It's Bella," she says, and I take a deep breath, grit my teeth. "I don't go by—"

"Why did you touch her like that?" I ask and I'm offended all over again. "On her face, you…you have no connection to my sister."

The faint rustling of her coat followed by the small sigh she breathes out pounds in my ears. "Touch is healing," she says and her voice is thick with sincerity. She walks away.

After a moment, I glance over my shoulder to see her stepping into the elevator before she disappears completely. Making things right with her is the least of my worries, but it's something that will need to be done. Whether through Marie or Isabella herself, I'll figure something out.

I look back toward Rose and then at the doorjamb. My palm is coated with pulp and has left a perfect impression in the jamb. I focus back on the dust on my hand then to the damage to the frame, again then again, becoming aware of the possibility that perhaps…It is not a simple feat to summon the intensity and the control that lives within me when I wear my suit, but I try.

Fitting my hand in the indentation, I seek the will to influence these miniscule particles. Seconds pass and nothing. I feel the same and the door remains the same. I try again, yet the dust is still dust. It will be impossible to explain this to Emmett or Shelly or any other member of the staff. Scooping up the remnants from the floor, I hold the small mound in my palm, staring at it, thinking. Though the need to _think_ is never part of the process.

I do. I act. I control.

Nothing.

The sound of Rose's ventilator brings me back. It was stupid to consider I could do it on my own. Tonight I'll slip in through her window and fix this, and maybe by way of some small miracle what I've done will go unnoticed.

I close the door behind me and brush my hands on my thighs. Rose's hands are by her sides, and after pulling a chair next to her bed, I place one of hers in my own. "For once I hope you didn't hear me," I tell her. "But if you did you know I didn't mean it. I'm so, so sorry." I wish she would open her eyes, laugh, say something like the joke's on me, that she was taking a long nap. It's a childish thing to want though, isn't it?

She was the brave one while I cowered. She took care of me, helped me with my homework when our mother worked. She lied for me when I came home after curfew and I returned the favor many times. I should have been there. "You're safe here. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you again. It's okay to wake up now, if you want to," I say, half expecting her to react.

I truly am a child, aren't I? One who's been infected by fantastical hopes as I scrutinize her face for the slightest movement.

But hope is a cruel thing. It is disappointing and tiring. It exists only to crush your soul, to make you continue on, persevere, while it inhabits your heart and mind like a deteriorating disease. It is the worst kind of drug, because I sit here, looking at my sister and wait. I wait for a sign, for a flicker of anything that comes from her and not those machines. I want more than the temporary confidence they give me. I want her back. I want my family back. As each defeating second passes I can still feel a tiny ember burning deep, so I'm here, still waiting for something that might never come. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

I wipe the corner of my eye on my sleeve and reach for the remote.

Flipping through channels, I search for any evidence that I did more than run around atop buildings last night. A close-up of Michael Newton with a blurred black and white still from what has to be a cheap security camera to the right of him shows on the screen. I turn up the volume, leaving my other hand to rest on Rose's forearm. I won't discount everything Isabella said.

"…_the figure appears to be Vanquish leaving Vladimir Petrescu's cell around two a.m. this morning. Mr. Petrescu, who was captured by Vanquish several weeks ago and has been awaiting arraignment, was found lying unconscious on the floor of his jail cell with bruises around his neck and what could possibly be lacerations caused by a knife to his upper chest and abdomen. Petrescu was being held in solitary confinement under tight security due to death threats he'd received. Who those threats had come from has yet to be determined. Prior to this incident there was a warrant issued for Vanquish's arrest, but we're being told now that the police will stop at nothing until he is brought in…What's that?...I've just been informed that Vladimir Petrescu has died. Once we receive more information…"_

I can't say I feel badly about Vladimir being dead—he deserves to rot in Hell, but it wasn't me. It couldn't have been.

* * *

On the drive back to the deli, I repeatedly go over what I do remember from last night, struggling to fill in the blanks. It's like attempting to shove something cylindrical into a square hole: impossible. Everything goes black the moment I reached the edge of the city. The river was calm and a few boats were anchored near Sages Bridge, which is nowhere near the jail, but that doesn't matter because distance and time are irrelevant and I didn't kill that piece of shit.

I pull into the alley behind Marie's. I lock up the car and enter through the back.

Jasper holds an iron pan over low flames. He shakes it and adds a seasoning to whatever meat he's cooking up. He glances over at me. "How's it goin'?" he asks, though it's obvious he's more interested in what's inside the pan than he is my answer.

"It goes," I say, handing the keys to Marie.

"That it does," Jasper says absently. He flips out the contents of the pan onto the chopping block next to the grill, finishes the order, then wipes his hand on his apron. "See you in a couple hours for the dinner shift, Marie. Edward."

"Bye, hon," she says. She squints up at me. "You don't look much better than you did earlier. Sure you don't want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "As it turns out it was just a false alarm and everything is as it should be," I lie.

"My, aren't we the cryptic one." She chuckles. "Alright then. Have it your way, but just know I'm here if you need me."

"I do. Thank you." I wish it were that simple, Marie.

* * *

As I lean back into the seat inside the cab, I take my phone out of my pocket and dial the number to the hospital. Emmett is apparently gone for the day, so I force a light conversation with Shelly. Had I not been linked to a beating and now murder, I would have addressed the error in his decision about Isabella while I was there. Regardless of my trust in him and the way he cares for Rose, it wasn't his call to make.

Shelly mentions nothing about any damage to Rose's door. "Could you have Emmett call me when he comes back into work?" I ask her. She replies, yes, of course.

I open the door of my building, and sounds of normalcy follow me as I climb flight after flight of stairs until I come to my floor: a man yelling at his television, a baby crying, a woman yelling at a man, and then laughter. It's a sweet sound and one I don't plan to become accustomed to for a long time. To think about my future is impractical when there are so many things to be resolved in the present.

"Edward," a man's voice says behind me.

"Jasper. What are you doing here?" He waves me off, ascending the five steps it takes to the landing, and I wonder if this visit has anything to do with Isabella.

"You'd think with all your money you'd be living in something a little more fancy," he says, looking around. It's not about Isabella. I say nothing. "I think we should go inside. Seems you're in a bit of a pickle, my friend."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Don't know what you mean." Leaning against the wall and aiming to sound as indifferent as possible, which somehow I do, Jasper cocks an eyebrow.

"You don't, huh?" he says and I shrug.

He's roughly three inches shorter than me, probably two decades older, and unimpressively lean. His gait is slow, tipping just to the left, so if he's here as some sort of physical threat I'm not intimidated. Jasper knows something, that much is clear. I do have money and plenty of it, because of a trust left to me. To say that I have some trouble to contend with, well, that would be true as well. Whatever Jasper intends to add to this day, I'm not up for it.

A few silent moments pass between us, but the woman who yelled at a man in the apartment below earlier has begun again. Her voice bellows up the stairwell. Jasper looks over his shoulder then back at me. "We can stand here all day, Edward, but I think you're going to want to hear what I have to say without prying ears, so let's cut the crap and go inside."

"Whatever you have to say you can say it right here."

"You're wasting time. Just open the door."

"I'm not in the mood for games, Jasper. What do you want."

"Me either," he says and scratches his lower lip with his thumb. "I have information about your father, Carlisle Cullen. Where he is. What he's been up to for the past few years. Ready to let me in now?"

"I think you're mistaken. Carlisle Cullen isn't my father," I say and turn to unlock my door, my hand shaking.

"Yes, he is," he says, unconvinced of my lie. "I worked with him at _SBS_. I knew your mother, Esme, and your sister…I'm sorry for what happened." I close my eyes, turning the key as he walks up behind me. "Edward, I'm the one who gave you the suit."

In a single fluid motion, I throw the door open with one hand, grabbing Jasper by his throat with the other, pushing him inside so fast he gasps for breath. I kick the door closed behind me as Jasper stumbles toward the middle of the room and falls to his knees.

"Who are you? Tell me now or I promise to hurt you in ways you'll want to be lobotomized to forget," I say, my voice low, growl-like, wanting him to feel the venom dripping from it. My father, the suit…_He's lying_…My mother and sister…all this time. _All this time_. He raises one hand, holding his throat with the other. "Get up." I'm standing over him before he has a chance to take another breath. "I said _get up_."

"Easy," he rasps, slowly maneuvering himself off the floor. "I'm here to help you."

"You're here to help me," I repeat and move closer to him. So close that I can smell cooking grease on his clothes. "And you gave me a suit? Understand this, Jasper, I don't like you and right now that does not bode very well for you. I meant what I said about the lobotomy…Don't try me."

I would not get any satisfaction if he were to visibly tremble or beg or plead. The satisfaction I do get comes from the comprehension settling across his face. The way his eyes grow clear and how, as the redness leaves his skin, his features go dour.

"You have one minute to tell me who you are."

He nods then licks his lips. "My name is Jasper Whitlock, and yes, I'm the one who left the suit for you outside your door." Jasper clears his throat. "It gives you the ability to do things that aren't humanly possible, and it was made specifically for you by your father several years ago. You already know he was an engineer at _Synergy Bio Systems_, a company focused on a greener way of living, but you're not aware of all the projects he'd worked on.

"Carlisle and I had developed a material that was strong and durable enough it surpassed what the military currently use. As you know, it's flexible, moving with your body as though you're—"

"Time's up, Jasper." My father made my suit. It will be burned as soon as Jasper is through here.

He holds up a hand again, taking a step back. "Yes, alright. It's indestructible and practically alive. Actually, in your case it is." He pauses, and I lift my chin, waiting for him to continue. "What we discovered was that when…Your father found a way…How do I explain this…Edward, the fibers of the material were fortified with an agent Carlisle created which he then, through a sophisticated amalgamation of your cells, _your_ DNA, has made the suit what it is. Made you what you are.

"_You're _the only one in which the suit will do what he meant for it to do. It has power over you just as you have power over it," he says. I fist my hands at my sides. I no longer see him as the quiet cook who takes sandwich orders from Marie, but a man who may have the answers I have needed for too long. "It lives as long as you live, working with your body, your mind…when you wear it you are, essentially, immortal."

He steels himself, his expression severe, and to hear another say aloud what I know to be true is a mighty thing, and for a second I don't feel entirely alone. But that second passes as quickly as a blink. "Why now? Why did you come forward and not him?"

"He can't," Jasper says.

"No? Too busy in the lab? Have I just been his guinea pig and now that he sees that his creation is a success he'll announce to the world what a scientific genius he is?"

Jasper motions toward my couch and after I refuse to sit, he does. He positions himself on the edge, resting his hands on his knees, and tells me my father is mentally incapacitated, currently residing in Glendale Hills and has been for the past four years. He says my father had begun to show signs of lunacy when I was a child, and his tone is even, as if he is stating simple facts as only a scientist would. "It's why he and your mother decided to not be together any longer, though she kept him in your life for as long as she was able. Rather, for as long as it did not affect you and your sister."

There is a short pause from the time he confesses this secret that he should not be the only one privy to until I speak again. "You said he made the suit for me."

"Yes, he did, prior to going completely insane. His intentions were not this, Edward," he says, waving his hand toward the window. "Not for you to become anyone's hero, but to have the ability, if you wanted. He told me once that he saw something in you, from the time you were a small child, that you would do great things."

"And so you took it upon yourself to fulfill his fantasy."

"Not a fantasy, Edward. Look at what you've done already, without guidance, without a soul to rely on, you've taken it upon yourself to do what he knew you were capable of," he says as a flicker of excitement flashes in his eyes.

"What is it that you want from me, Jasper? You still haven't told me why you decided to introduce yourself now and quit playing the short order cook. How did you know I'd go there?"

He stands then walks toward the window. Jasper tugs on the thin curtain limply hanging on it. "You're being accused of murder, Edward. I know you didn't do it, but you were there," he says, looking back at me as though searching for confirmation. But I can't give that to him because I don't remember. "Those people out there will turn against you, and that won't do in your pursuit to find out who took your mother and sister from you…It wasn't hard to figure out you'd want to avenge your family, which is why just months after she passed—"

"You mean after she was killed."

Jasper apologizes, then continues, "Which is why I delivered it to you. I wanted to help you, then and now. I didn't say anything before because I didn't think you would be receptive to me, but now you have no choice. I've been watching you and as far as knowing you would go to Marie's? Well, that's something you'll have to see to believe."

I suddenly feel small, as if I've been stripped and bared. Vulnerable in the worst of ways. And I wonder if this is Jasper's intent. "Show me," I say.

Before Jasper and I leave my apartment, I pick my suit up off the floor of my bedroom. Fold it neatly and place it into the box in which it came. For a while, I stare at it, rub the material between my fingers, feel its energy. I don't trust Jasper, and I don't forgive my father.

* * *

We drive out of the city, past the parkway that leads to the hospital and continue on for a good hour.

It is tucked away, out of sight from everyday people who commute on this road to travel to wherever they are going. This place does not fit within the scope of the sane, even though the stone sign that reads Glendale Hills that sits atop a grassy knoll is welcoming, the building itself is not. It is cold and brooding and cement, and not a single showing of life can be seen. At its highest point, it is ten floors, and stretches out hundreds of feet, though not flat across as it appears to be several buildings all connected in a zigzag pattern.

Jasper warned that his _something_ was here, where my father is, but I said nothing, because it was him I was referring to anyway. I need to see him, see his condition for myself.

Just as the asylum looks on the outside, it is that much but more on the inside. Drafty but smells of bleach and completely silent except for the shuffle of the nurses' feet on the gray tiled floor.

This is where my father lives. My entire family is contained by machines and metal, bleach and concrete and dirt. It is almost too much to bear.

I glance over toward Jasper as we walk down the corridor leading to where my father is. "Will he recognize me?"

"I'm not sure."

"It shouldn't have been your decision to keep this from me."

We stop at a door with a small, square window. "I was only carrying out your mother's wishes," he says and turns the handle. His admittance makes me sick to my stomach.

"Wait," I say. "Were you at her funeral?" He nods and opens the door.

Inside there are sparse furnishings: a few white round tables, metal chairs with plastic seats, and a single potted leafy plant in the corner which offers the only color in here. Here, too, it is quiet. Just a constant murmur of noise and hushed tones.

Jasper points to my right. "There," he says.

He is frail and alone. Where I remember there being blond it's now mostly gray and he looks to be years and years older than he is. I wasn't sure what I would feel when I saw him, but it's not pity or empathy. I don't think I feel anything.

"Carlisle," Jasper says, and he looks up.

His eyes are cloudy and blue, and it takes ages for him to understand that the person he's trying focus on is the one who called his name. It is a sad reunion between him and Jasper, the way they look at each other, exchanging something that I do not understand; I have no idea how long it's been since Jasper was here last—I didn't ask. And then he looks at me and it is instant. His cloudy eyes glisten and spill over, and I am not prepared for this. I do not want this. "You came home," he says. He stands and walks past us and is led from the room by a younger man dressed in white.

Jasper takes hold of my elbow, opens his mouth to say something, and before I tell him to not say anything at all, thinking how much of a coward my father is, there are fingers digging in to my other arm.

"Buzz, buzz, buzz little bee. Here you are and now we're three," she says. She's small with dirty black hair and big, blackish eyes. She smells, bad. "Stinger's gonna get you."

"Alice," Jasper says, and I turn to him. "Let go." She hops away, mimicking riding a horse, slapping at air that I'm assuming is supposed to be the horse's ass.

"Who is she?"

"Just a patient. I _met_ her a while back when visiting Carlisle." Alice is across the room, putting her imaginary horse away. She skips back toward us. "She's the _something_."

"_She's_ how you knew I'd go to Marie's. Perhaps you belong here as well."

Alice sniffs my shirt then rips a button from it. "Cookie cooks, cooks. I told him it was you. Told him where to go, I did, I did." She stops, freezes then looks up at me and whispers, "I want to make soup, let me have a piece of your hair."

"No."

"You're a bad, bad man," she says, and Jasper tells her to be nice. "Yes, yes. Alice is nice. Alice is good." Her face crumples, her brow furrowing so deep that her eyes are mere slits as she tilts her head toward the ground. "Help her, Edward."

I step back. "I'm leaving," I say to Jasper then walk out the door. He's on my heels, attempting to explain. "Is this a joke?"

"No, it's not, Edward. I know this is a lot to process, preposterous even, but she had said other things. Things that were odd, obviously, but strangely came true. I took a chance, not knowing another way to…insert myself into your life. Look," he says grabbing hold of my arm. "You don't have time to doubt me. You're going to have to trust me."

"I don't."

"I'm not surprised. I wouldn't either if I were you, but you don't have the luxury to deliberate right now." He steps closer and lowers his voice. "They're going to turn against you, the public. Unless you plan to go into hiding, the police will eventually find you."

"No, they won't."

"They will, because you're going to wear the suit to find the ones you're after. You know you will, and when you do you'll run the risk of getting caught. Immortality or not, you'll always be hiding…You're putting Rose at risk."

I would throw him through the wall if not for the gaggle of nurses twenty feet from us, and he sees it. He sees the anger that makes my hands tremble and my insides quake.

"I swear on my life that you have my best interest, Edward…Okay," he says, though I gave him no indication I believe him or that I even want him to continue. "Take a day to let all this sink in, but then you need to apologize to the girl."

"What girl?"

"Marie's granddaughter, Bella."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Waves of thunder echo above, commanding attention. I wait for the walls and floor to shake but they don't. It's distant but crawls closer as minutes pass—no lightning, just a sound conceived of wrath, and I expect torrents to fall at any moment that will blind and paralyze the city. But it doesn't rain. Not a drop falls from the vaporous barrier that's between us and the sound.

It comes again, closer, louder, like a warning, and my anticipation for something remarkable to happen builds. Prepare for a storm, my instincts tell me. Instead, I open the window and in comes a surge of cold, wet air. The potential is there, for something extraordinary, but it's only the sound, and the liberation from the rise of expectation goes unsatisfied as it continues on, passing by. Jasper said to take a day to let it all sink in. It's been three, no, four days, and I don't think it ever will.

I thought about returning to Glendale on my own. I planned to not let him see me, or maybe I would have. I don't know. He recognized me, said I'd come home, whatever that was supposed to mean. Then again, he shares social time with a girl who wants to make soup with my hair, so dissecting his words would be a wasted effort. Still, I thought there'd be more from the moment I saw my father again, and I wonder when will I learn to stop being so unrealistic and quell these expectations.

Jasper calls twice per day, whether I work at the deli or not, and I tell him I plan to find Isabella between classes tomorrow afternoon. "Be nice," he said. "Remember who her father is." I'm to advocate Vanquish to her, as if she'd listen to _me_.

"How do you _know_ I didn't kill Petrescu?" I asked Jasper.

His voice was grainy on the other end of the phone. "You're incapable of killing anyone." He says this as my image is plastered all over the television; Tanya Conley screaming for my capture, for justice. Even in print, there I am, Angela Weber not so friendly anymore, naming me a High-Level criminal.

"I was there, Jasper, and really, you have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Edward," he said. "Why do you continue to fight me? There's no room in this world for petulance and ego. Not if you want to succeed…Tell me what you want."

"I don't need to repeat myself."

"Fine. Don't. But don't forsake your goal because you got in your own way."

It's nearly 2 a.m., and I am wide awake. I've yet to tell Jasper about blacking out that night and what followed the next morning. I haven't told him about involuntarily manipulating the piece of Rose's door either. What would he say? What could he possibly do?

_It has power over you just as you have power over it._

If that and everything else Jasper has told me is true, the only way to find out is to put the suit on. I have no other choice and to weigh the pros and cons of what might or might not occur would be yet another wasted effort, and so I go to my closet and remove the black box from the top shelf, regardless of who it came from.

* * *

I have clarity, everything making perfect sense. No inner conflict brewing inside. I am not weak, but when I come alive I can see. I hadn't noticed just how acute it was, but then I hadn't been paying this close attention either.

Retracing my steps to Sages Bridge, I try to recall the specifics of that night. It's strange though, attempting to tap into those memories that are mine but in fact are not when I am divided from _this_. And that is what seems to be going on. Here is lucidity and without the suit, turmoil, yet I am both. Like a Jekyll and Hyde, so to speak, but neither wanting control of the other. If I were to try to explain this to Jasper, surely he'd think me as insane as my father.

I am standing atop the highest point of the bridge, wind whipping around me, lights blinking and few cars speeding below me, and I feel free. I _am_ free. My mind is light and my body hums. This is bliss, and I wonder if ignorance really is too. If that is how my father lives day to day, stuck in his head without consequence or remorse. Perhaps, I am more like my father than I'd care to admit.

No. No, I'm not.

The direction of the jail is to my left, but I am pulled to the right, and before I give in to this impulse I remind myself to not let go completely. To hold on to the more _human_ side of me. Yes, this is very, very strange. Almost like willing yourself to repeat a dream. Bring it back from the depths of your subconscious.

I have a few hours before the sun rises and I go right, diving into the river below.

As I make my way toward 8th Street, I think about Jasper's concerns of me getting caught by the police. It's amusing. How would they stop me?

This pull takes me to Sentinel Place, a high rise apartment building with narrow balconies jutting out that are bedecked with plastic plants or plastic chairs or both. It is right in the middle of the poor and the rich, unnoticed and comfortable. Nothing comes back to me, so maybe I should let go, a little. Bring back the dream when I wake, per se.

I climb down, pass two apartments, then onto the edge of the balcony with the yellow plastic chair and the deadened ivy still clinging to the railing. This apartment is dark, it is probably close to 4 a.m. after all, and I wait but I don't know what for.

I am not nervous about being so close to the possibility of being seen, nor am I seeking a cheap thrill; it's déjà vu. I've been here and I was welcomed.

The window opens, slightly, cautiously, no more than a few inches. "You came back," she says, and it's just her soft voice, but it is familiar. "I didn't think you would."

"Why wouldn't I?" I wish I could answer that question.

She laughs. "Who we are. My father wants your head on a platter."

_Oh._ "But you don't," I say, lowering my voice. "You don't believe what they're saying about me."

"No," Isabella says and opens the window wider. "It doesn't make sense. You could have killed him and any of the others you caught. Why would you go inside a secured jail to do it? My father can be blind at times."

Well, this is…not what I expected. I am perched on the iron railing of Isabella Swan's balcony while she leans on the sill of her window, hair lightly blowing and peering up at me as if we're longtime friends.

Why did I come here? It's not as if our first meeting went smoothly or I'd given her a second thought.

She tilts her head to the side as her brows knit. "Would it be weird to ask if you wanted to come inside?" _Yes._ "I mean," she says, looking around. "You don't want anyone to see you, right?"

"I'm fine out here."

"You sure?"

"Yes…Why are you awake?"

Isabella blinks, she's taken aback. "I told you last time I don't sleep. I wish I could but I've got a terrible case of insomnia. Have since, well, since I was a kid." I step down from the railing. "Don't you remember us talking about that?"

"Must have slipped my mind." She nods. "I should go," I say.

She looks down, examines her nails and says, "Will you come back?"

"I don't know."

"Alright."

"Can I ask you something, Isabella?" I say, moving closer to the window. I kneel down and we are eye to eye. "Are you befriending me as some sort of act of defiance against your father?"

"What? No. Why would you think that? I thought…I…no," she says, backing inside. She sits in a dark chair next to the window, facing away. After a long pause she turns toward me wearing an honest expression that softens her mouth and her big brown eyes. If she were to look at me this way again, I think I could be persuaded to tell her things I would never want her to know, and this revelation is not okay. "You came to me, so I could easily assume the same about you."

I close the window from the outside and propel myself up the wall to the roof.

* * *

I wake to the same excruciating pain, the blurred vision, the vomiting.

The loss of memory.

I wake to my phone ringing incessantly and switch it off without checking the number, but know that it's Jasper calling.

Stripping my bed, I glance at the clock. 11:42 a.m. I have an hour until Isabella will be in front of Demaricus Hall (named after the wonderful Judge Aro Demaricus thanks to his family's endowment) to attend her Psychology class.

I have a hard time believing this will go well; I've never been one to convincingly feign regret.

I have an hour.

Before I shower, I toss my bedding into the washing machine. I open my bedroom window to let in fresh air and then I'm flooded with such a powerful sense of déjà vu that my knees buckle. Like an internal photographic catalog, pictures flip in my mind, though none are clear. Fuzzy snapshots of dark and light and yellow and…dammit, this is frustrating. But it's from last night, of this much I'm sure, and I tell myself that this is a good thing. Turning on the television, I scour every channel. This time, thankfully, there is nothing, but I still cannot make out the images in my mind. I am getting closer and I lack the feeling of dread I had last time. Progress.

Because I'm curious I touch the glass of the window, and just underneath the tip of my finger it shatters as if penetrated by a bullet. I smile, wondering if maybe this time those talents will stay with me a little longer. Maybe tonight I'll try again.

* * *

Outside Demaricus Hall, students mill around on the steps and the patch of green in front of the three buildings that enclose it. The university is like it's own entity, a collegiate setting that makes you forget you're smack in the middle of a dark and dirty city. The sun is high in the sky, and I imagine Demaricus somehow orchestrated it to shine down giving the scene an air of perfection. Sort of like the Commissioner and his family.

Isabella Swan stands between two people, chatting and smiling. I walk toward them. I don't know the girl she's with, but the guy, Garrett, is in my Econ class. They're talking about the thunder last night and how they thought there'd be a storm and how they thought they'd lose power and then the girl who I don't know mentions how like, totally freaked out she was and it was all totally gnarly. Interesting. I wouldn't have guessed Isabella would be friends with someone who says things like, like and totally and gnarly in the same sentence, let alone at all. But she doesn't respond in the same manner. She says that yeah, it was impressive. When she spots me, her smile fades and all three are now looking in my direction.

"Edward," Garrett says. "Missed you in class this morning." Isabella sucks in her lips then stares over her shoulder. No, this isn't going to go well at all.

"Wasn't feeling well," I say. "May I talk to you for a moment, Isabella?"

Garrett and the girl exchange glances and Isabella shrugs. "Sure," she says.

As Isabella and I move away from Garrett and the girl, he calls out, asking if I need his notes. I don't turn around. "No, thanks, I'm good."

We're side by side and I have to slow my stride to match hers. She clutches the strap of her bag with one hand and the other is shoved into her coat pocket. Isabella stops and turns toward me. "Is something wrong?" she asks. "I mean, if you're here to remind me not go near your sister again, I wasn't planning to. In fact, I gave up my—"

"No, that's not it. I just wanted to…sorry."

"Oh. Well," she says.

Everything about her is indifferent. It's annoying. I'm not sure what else I'm supposed to do; my forehead crinkles. It's awkward and I begin to take a step away, but then I stop, nod once. "Okay then," I say, and she tilts her head to the side as her brows knit.

"What?" she says, and I realize I'm staring at her because the expression on her face is vaguely familiar.

"Nothing. That's really all I had to say."

She rolls her eyes. "Awesome. See ya 'round, Edward," she says then walks away.

Isabella leaves me standing alone on the patch of green, as if I'm the one who's in the wrong. I don't like it.

When I arrive back home, I return Jasper's call from earlier. He asks how it went with Isabella. "Awesome," I tell him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"…and the police are no closer to finding Vanquish to inquire about where he was the night Petrescu was murdered than they were a week ago. Commissioner Swan stated, 'We only want to talk to him. Every citizen, costumed or not, is innocent until proven guilty. However, his avoidance of due questioning makes our job that much harder and doesn't look very good for him. If he is innocent then he has nothing to worry about." When asked about the video placing Vanquish at the jail the time of the murder, Swan had this to say: 'It would appear that Vanquish was there, yes. The resolution is sketchy, and again, we need to speak with him directly,'" Jasper reads.

"Are you suggesting I slip into my suit, stroll down to the precinct, and have a heart to heart with Charles Swan?" I say. We are hovered around this morning's paper in the back of the deli. It's just past the lunch rush, I've finished my deliveries, and Marie is out running an errand. Jasper has already proven what a pain in the ass he can be when he's determined, hounding me about my "sad attempt of an apology" to Isabella and now Miss Weber's latest article. "I don't think that'd be such a good idea, Jasper."

His nostrils flair and he shakes his head, snapping the newspaper. He reads, "I used to feel safe knowing Vanquish was out there protecting us all, but now I'm not so sure. You decide, good people of Delphian. Is Vanquish the good guy or the bad guy?"

"A little dramatic, don't you think? Personally, I think Miss Weber put way too much stock in Vanquish to begin with."

"Enough with the sarcasm, Edward," he says, tossing the paper onto the stainless steel counter. "You and I both know you don't need this. I'm not asking for you to be this city's hero, but you must have them on your side."

I turn and lean back against the counter, take a sip of my coffee. "Why is that so important? Who cares what they think? My only objective is to find my mother's killer, so what does it matter if the _'good people of Delphian'_ think me a villain or not? We've talked about this…ad nauseam. I didn't do it. I don't know why I was there, but—"

"What do you mean you don't know why you were there?" he asks. His eyes narrow slightly, regarding me.

I'm getting too comfortable with Jasper, hence my flub. "What I mean is that at the beginning of the night I had no intentions of visiting him, but then I thought perhaps he'd have information about the murderers. It was worth a shot," I say, and he is momentarily mollified, his features relaxing. This reasoning feels truthful, the words spilling out naturally.

"Did he?" Jasper asks. He places one hand on the counter and the other on his hip. "Did he know anything at all?"

I shake my head. "No." This, too, feels like the truth, so I allow myself not to force it and simply speak. "Unfortunately not. He pissed himself as soon as he saw me…seems he had issues with his bladder…but no. He whimpered, threatened to scream and when I asked it was fairly evident he knew nothing." Petrescu's face comes into my mind, my hand around his throat as I have him pinned up against the wall of his cell. The panic he'd shown was from my presence alone; he knew nothing.

Apparently, my memories will come back on their own. Okay. This isn't so bad. Aside from the discomfort the following morning, I can live with this.

Jasper's shoulders drop and he nods. "Alright," he says then pauses for a moment. "Alright. Well, someone is definitely trying to frame you, that much is obvious. Whether it's an effort to bring _you_ down or merely throw the police in another direction is what we need to figure out. Listen, next time you're at the station make friends."

"My original plan was to do just that, Jasper. Get on their good side. _Stumble_ upon information, but now it seems like a waste of time. Why don't you get your friend Alice to tell us who's responsible," I say. Thinking about that woman, or girl—I have no idea how old she is nor do I really care—makes my skin crawl.

He's not amused. "Don't do that," he warns. Jasper picks up the newspaper, folds it and tucks it under his arm.

"Do what?" I ask, because I truly do not know what he's referring to.

"Be an asshole," he says and I raise my hand in surrender. It's been a long time since I've had to mind the things I say and how I say them. Actually, it's been a long time since I've cared, and whether I understand why I've offended Jasper or not, I apologize anyway. He continues, "If the precinct closed down at night I'd say jump into the suit and break in, but since the police are there 24/7, keep doing what you're doing. Too bad you can't manipulate computer systems," he says, offering a half smile. "But that was your sister's area of expertise, wasn't it?"

"It was." Rose had a knack for computers. I was in middle school, she in high school and she'd hacked into their mainframe and cleaned up her attendance record so our mom wouldn't find out about the times she'd skipped. But then it dawns on me that I haven't mentioned this to Jasper. "How'd you know?"

He takes a breath. "Your father told me," he says. "He may not have been around, Edward, but he was made aware of everything the two of you were up to. Your mom kept him up to date. Up until he was committed, of course."

"That's great," I say. "Honestly, Jasper. I'm so happy my father, _and you_, had your seats in the stands, watching down on Rose and me like detached spectators while the two of us lived our lives thinking our father had found a better one. _Love_ being kept in the dark like that." He starts to speak, but I shake my head. "One of these days I'd really appreciate it if you told me everything and not arbitrarily threw out these little bits of personal information, okay? So from now on I won't be a complete asshole and you'll be forthcoming, yeah?"

I shake my head and walk to the front of the deli. Jasper follows me. "Fair enough," he says and as he does the bell on the door jingles. "You can start practicing now." Jasper nods toward Marie. And Isabella.

* * *

I have an altering affect on Isabella that some may define as unfavorable. Turning this supposed sweet girl into an iceberg, because as she enters the deli her smile is wide and her body relaxed but all that changes as soon as she sees me. Again, no less. And what I really do not understand is why. My actions toward her were reasonable, so unless she's the type of person who thinks she's above being spoken to directly and honestly, I don't know what the hell her problem is. Regardless, it's tiresome.

The four of us all look at one another, waiting for someone to speak first. The air in here is way too thick. Isabella's hand is looped around Marie's elbow and Marie pats it. "Well," Marie says. "This is…well."

"Gran, I'm going to head out. Thanks for shopping with me, and now that I think about it you were right about the throw rug you spotted back at that little shop. I think I'll pick it up on my way home before they close. Jasper…Edward." Jesus Christ. Could she say my name with any more disdain? She turns to Marie, giving her a kiss on her cheek. I wonder if it goes numb from the chill. "I'll call you later," she says to Marie.

"Why don't you stay, Bella?" Jasper says. "I was getting ready to grill up a Panini."

"Were you, now," I say, and he smirks.

"I was as a matter of fact. Didn't you say you were hungry, too, Edward?"

"Ah, no, thank you," Isabella says. "I have a paper to write so I really should go."

Marie holds onto Isabella's hand.

"No, stay," I say. "I'll leave." I side-eye Jasper who gives me a look that's anything but approving. "See you tomorrow," I tell him and then walk toward the door. Marie and Isabella step aside and though Marie is looking at me, Isabella is not. She focuses on the floor, but had she actually looked at me I would have said something…_pleasant_, essentially calling a truce, because this is ridiculous. I tell Marie goodbye then glance back at Isabella. Screw it. "Good luck on your paper."

She lifts her head and there's the composure to which I was first introduced. "Thank you," she says, and I nod.

As I push open the door Marie says she wants to speak with me. I'm fully prepared for her to lay down the law when it comes to her granddaughter. This is her family, after all, so why shouldn't she demand respect. I do.

"You okay?" she asks in that caring way she has, and it stirs up a displaced envy of Isabella, that she has family around her all the time. I'm not proud of this.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good," she says and smiles. "I wanted to let you know how very sorry I am about your sister. Bella told me. Please don't be mad with her. It was my fault—I pried like I tend to do and pretty much made her tell me what had her upset. It was the day you found her in your sister's room." She prevents my attempt to interrupt by shaking her head, but I'm not upset or angry. I assumed as much even if I hadn't planned on having this conversation today. "She felt awful for overstepping and now," she says, glancing at the door of the deli then back at me. "Do you know why my son moved his family here, Edward? Remember when D.C. was attacked a few years ago? Bella's boyfriend was one of the victims. His name was Brady and they had plans to go to college together. Very much in love, those two, but then the attack, and it became too difficult for her to stay there. Anyway, she's suffered too. I just thought you should know."

Marie squeezes my arm then walks toward the door. "Why would you tell me this?" I ask. "It's none of my business."

She shrugs and smiles. "Good friends are hard to come by."

* * *

I tell Rose about Isabella and think about the first time I saw her when her father was sworn in. How she stood at the top of the steps of City Hall and how we caught each other's eye for a second. "She probably doesn't remember," I say to Rose. "Doesn't matter, though, does it? She thinks I'm an ass and frankly, I don't have time to be anyone's sounding board. It's horrible what happened, and I feel bad for her, but I can't be _anyone's_ friend."

The magazine I bought a week or so ago still lays on her bedside table, untouched, the pages flat and pristine. I suppose Emmett doesn't care much for reading aloud articles about fashion or celebrities, so I pick it up, starting off with hairstyles suitable for spring.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you enjoy that stuff," says Emmett. He's standing in the doorway, grinning. The last time we spoke I made it vehemently clear about my instructions regarding Rose's care, but now that we're face to face it's as if all is forgotten. He walks in, checks Rose's chart, her feeding tube, the readings on the monitors. In a quiet voice he says, "How ya doin' today, sweetie?" This is the familiarity I've become accustomed to. From him, not anyone else. But the thing is Rose deserves people around her, people to care about her. Emmett looks over at me. "We cool?"

"Yeah," I say simply, rubbing my jaw. Just like that we're on even ground again. "So, Isabella Swan. She checked out alright."

"Bella? Sure she did. This is a private, secured hospital. We do extensive background checks on everyone, no matter who they are—you know that. But, dude, she quit, and it's a shame, too, because she was great with the other patients she worked with." He writes in Rose's chart then sits in a chair opposite her bed. "Why?"

"No reason."

Emmett heaves a sigh. "If you've changed your mind I can call her back," he offers.

"Not likely she'd accept." I laugh to myself then look over at Rose. "Question."

"Shoot."

"Is it true in cases like Rose's the human touch is…healing?"

"That's impossible to answer, Edward. Every case is different. Dr. Gerandy is one of the most highly regarded neurologists within a 500 mile radius of here. You should ask him."

"I'm asking you."

"Alright." He stands, motioning to the hall. Once we're there, he closes Rose's door. "I've seen people react differently to different stimuli. The human brain is extraordinary and utterly complex. There are a lot of factors involved that even for a person with the strongest of wills, it wouldn't make a difference, but there's always that one in a million miracle. Look, we both know what Rose's prognosis is, but she's still here. What would it hurt?"

"You didn't really answer my question," I say.

"Generally speaking? It's possible. In Rose's case?" He takes care with each word. "I'm not sure you want an honest answer…However, despite my opinion, I'd probably do the exact same thing as you've done." My phone vibrates in my pocket and as I pull it out Emmett says, "Let me know if you want me to call her."

"I'll think about it."

Emmett steps back into Rose's room. He's describing blue skies and summer, yet it's gray and raining outside. What else is new?

_Get back to your apartment as soon as you can_, a text from Jasper reads. _Avoid 10__th__ Ave and Queen St. Blocked off. Listen to the radio in the cab._

* * *

It's possible that Jasper Whitlock is an opportunistic son of a bitch. It's also possible that he's genuinely worried for the safety of the seventeen kids and their teacher who are being held hostage at gunpoint by the estranged father of one of the kids.

The first thing out of his mouth once I got back to my apartment was, "Time to get them on your side." The second, "It's not good. The guy won't respond to negotiations, and they're saying there might be explosives rigged inside the building. Seventeen kids, Edward. You don't have a choice."

It would never be a choice.

It's nearly four in the afternoon which means I'll be seen by everyone, and thus my chances of being arrested are somewhat high. I'm on the sixth and highest floor so if anyone saw me enter through a window I don't care. The terror that saturates this place drowns any concerns I had about my own outcome.

Outside, the school is surrounded by police cars, a few ambulances, and a helicopter hovering above. There are shouts and cries from the crowd, an officer barking concessions through a megaphone, and a cohort of news anchors detailing every agonizing second. It is chaos.

But in here it's eerily quiet, the noise on the other side of these brick walls muffled as if the building is immersed in water. I've yet to see any explosives; he wouldn't have time to set them up going unnoticed, unless he broke in the night before.

He's reportedly in a classroom on the third floor, but that's all I know. Not a name or a motive was given over the radio, and Jasper hadn't seen anything on television.

In seconds, I'm on the third floor and it is thick with the smell of sulfur. All doors are wide open, crayon drawings and construction paper artwork are tacked to boards on the walls. He shot off his gun recently, but I don't know where. I'm vibrating in anticipation of getting my hands on this psychotic piece of shit.

What does Jasper imagine is going to happen when all this is over? Does he really believe they'll say, "Good job, son. Never mind about those charges against you." They won't, so after I get the kids out of the classroom I'm going to enjoy instilling a bit of fear into the fucker on the other side of this door.

Through the small window I catch glimpses of the back of him. Just his shoulder, the back of his head. His movements are jerky and in one hand he holds a gun, a small pistol found at any neighborhood superstore, and the other is wrapped around a woman. He points the gun to her head, says something in her ear, and she shudders, shaking her head.

There are three large windows inside the classroom and each of them have putty with wires connecting each mound. The putty is placed precisely on the seams and in the middle of the glass. I'd have to assume he's done the same to the inside of the door, so entry this way is out of the question—I'm not going to risk experimentation with C-4. Not today, anyway.

I can't see the kids—he must have them pressed up against the wall—they may be tied up, and there may be more explosives nearer to them, and I've realized that if he's put the explosives on the only means in or out of this room, he's trapped himself inside and he's prepared to die himself.

I enter the room next door. Swan's voice bellows an offer to talk, to let everyone go and they'll figure this out. He doesn't respond. No cries from the kids or the woman. No frenzied yelling; it's too quiet in there.

My hands to the wall that separates us, it begins to shift slowly, particles falling to the floor. Carefully and as silently as possible I push further and further in, centimeter by centimeter turning the cinderblocks to dust, and it feels as if it's taking forever.

Finally, a thin layer is all that stands between us. I close my eyes and hear the panicked breaths of the kids, the shift of his feet on the linoleum floor and then I hear him whisper to the woman, "I told you I'd never let you go."

He's here for her, not one of them.

This revelation is simultaneously good and bad. If it comes down to it, none of the children will witness what I plan to do to their father—no connection. But because he's not connected to any of them there's the potential they are expendable. Bargaining chips that won't be spared.

At my touch, the layer becomes thinner and then I am there, approximately three feet behind him. The kids are sitting in two rows: a row of backs against the wall, the second directly in front with their backs pressed to knees. A few pairs of teary eyes dart in my direction and I put my finger to my mouth. These kids can't be more than ten years old.

C-4 is detonated via remote, and there's a little rectangular box sitting on her desk. Lucky for me he's not very bright, that is if he's not concealing a secondary charge.

The helicopter's wings whir, Swan's voice echos again, and then a silent army of footsteps that I believe only I can hear are above us—all this melding with the blood rushing in my ears. One of the little girls quietly sobs and his head shoots in her direction. When it does I move.

He's still in my arms, but he quakes inside his skin. His anger, his rage, it seeps out like rotten stench. "I'd like to snap your neck," I tell him. I clutch his head while placing my other hand over his which holds the gun still pointed at her. "Let go of her."

"She doesn't want me to," he says. "She loves me."

I laugh. "Wonderful. The two of you can talk about it later, but first she's going to take these kids outside."

"No," he says, squeezing his fingers into her trembling body, and I sigh.

I look toward the kids. "I need you to tell me the truth, okay? Is there anything keeping you from standing up and walking through that hole in the wall?" The reaction is mixed. Some stare at me wide-eyed and frozen while others won't look at me at all, but there is one boy who shakes his head minutely. "He didn't give any of you something to hold or put anything in your pockets?" I ask, and the boy confirms that he didn't. "All of you close your eyes."

"No," he says again. "Let 'em watch."

"You really are a sick fucker, you know that?" I whisper to him then repeat my instructions to the kids.

What comes next is easy. His gun is now mere liquid, coating his arm and neck. I guide it up his throat, his chin, and inside his mouth, because he's a stupid motherfucker and I don't want to hear him speak again. I solidify the metal outside his body but allow the liquid to linger in his mouth. Trying to scrape the metal out of his mouth, he releases the woman. "Yeah, that's not going to work," I say, turning him away as I grab his arm.

I pat him down for a secondary remote, and she runs over to the kids, gathers them up then leads them through the wall. It won't take but more than a few minutes for the cops to barge in from outside. Those I heard above will be here in seconds.

I break his free arm by the elbow and his knees give in as he produces a wail from deep inside his chest. "Sorry, I can't understand what you're saying." The footsteps are charging down the hall, and even though this explosive is not supposed to go off by impact, I'm not going to take any chances. I drag him into the other classroom. "Hope you land on something soft," I say and throw him through the window.

There are screams, he hits…something, but it doesn't sound soft, and then there are five rifles pointed at me.

I have a single option. It's not to come to blows with the police, though, getting by them wouldn't be difficult, but at this point I'd rather not. I have to go up, and from there find somewhere to wait until the sun goes down.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

They tell me to get down. "Get on the ground! _On the ground_!" they shout, over and over again, but none of us move save for the ends of their rifles which shake ever so slightly. I wonder if they realize their nerves are showing.

I am reminded that even though they are protected by weapons, their bodies shielded by armor, they are still just human. They really have no idea what I can do. They've never seen me close up. Are they freaked out? Pissed off? They're certainly not awestruck. No, they're just humans fulfilling their duty, and what an odd sensation it is that suddenly courses through me, this one of camaraderie.

"Get on the goddamned ground!" one of them shouts again, positioning his rifle tighter against his shoulder. But any solidarity vanishes since they'd sooner fire than ask questions, and I stand here with my palms raised. I am not yielding to them, not in the least. It's simply much easier to bring the ceiling down this way.

"The room next door is loaded with C-4," I caution, and close my fingers over my palm. The ceiling shudders, they glance up and then like a waterfall it gushes down forming a wall of dust and debris and desks between us. I jump.

* * *

When they see me, they clap, but the mood of the crowd clashes with that of the police. Ends of guns are all pointed at me yet again. They won't shoot, not with the kids there. Not with everyday people appreciating my actions as unorthodox as they've been claimed to be. Wind caused by the police helicopter circling above presses at me, lifts dirt from the roof, and carries Swan's voice so that it booms, giving it a heightened air of authority.

I could have escaped through one of the fourth, fifth, or even sixth floor windows, but then I'd risk pursuit. By ground would be out of the question—too many bystanders to get past. By rooftop, because there's a news chopper in the distance, it'd be something that'd turn into highlights shown on television for weeks, and I do not want to go down in history with the likes of famous car chases. Besides, the metal that swirls inside the asshole's mouth needs to come out before I have actually killed someone.

I flick my fingers and it shoots out like a fountain, but his arm, throat, and chin remain _hampered_. One of the paramedics turns and throws a thumbs up my way.

Swan brings the megaphone to his mouth. "Come down from the roof!" he says. "We just want to talk."

I smile. "Don't think so," I shout back.

In under two hours it will be dusk.

"There are a few things we need to get straightened out." Swan looks to his right, to where parents hug their children and says, "Thank you for your help, but it's better for everyone if you come down!"

I already know how to get off this roof but now I know where I will go.

The wings of the helicopter begin to slow, sputter. I keep my arms by my side, my hands and fingers controlling this massive machine—any aggressive movements from me will surely bring a spray of bullets in my direction, but Swan still knows it's me and I'm confident enough that he won't order them to shoot.

The pilot is able to land on the next building. The other helicopter, however, the one with the big, boldly painted _News 6 _sign on its side, comes down a little harder on the opposite roof. This is new—I've yet to control something from this distance.

The police look back and forth at one another, they look to Swan for instruction, and before I take off I spot that one little boy who was brave enough to silently communicate with me up in that classroom. "I didn't kill Petrescu," I tell Swan, and then I'm gone.

* * *

If you were to plug your ears, this place would give the illusion you're not in Delphian. There is lattice with silk vines and potted trees with silk leaves and lights that when turned on at night would probably resemble stars. There's a chair with a blanket, and a table and books. On the floor is a carpet of fake grass and above is a pergola that would do little to provide shelter from the rain. This place is a synthetic oasis for one and was not here the last time I was. She's been busy.

It's pushed off to the side, around and behind the door that leads to the inside of her apartment building. Folded away. Hidden from the adjacent building. I wonder if others use it, if she'd be bothered if someone else borrowed her space. I know it belongs to her because she's quite comfortable sitting in the chair with her legs tucked up beneath her. That and it has Isabella written all over it. It's strange to recognize this, but then the plastic yellow chair that sits on her balcony must have a twin, because it, too, is part of the furnishings, so maybe it's only that my perception is keen and not that I have a certain sense about Isabella.

She has a phone pressed to her ear. She's discussing today's events with whomever it is on the other end. Listening to her voice, it hits me what brought me here in the first place. It wasn't intentional. I didn't seek her out, but I was here on her roof that night and then I heard her yelling from her apartment below. She was crying and the yelling was at no one but her own frustration.

I can't believe she hasn't seen me yet. Can she not feel my presence? "Isabella," I say in a low voice I hope is unrecognizable. She jumps, startled, drops her phone.

"Shit!" she says. The corner of my mouth quirks. "You scared the crap out of me," she whispers. After she recovers her phone she tells the person on the other end she has to go and it was just a nasty bug that landed on her knee, and yes, of course she'll be careful.

"Be careful of what?"

"Not what," she says, straightening. "Who."

"Me." She nods and pulls the blanket around her shoulders. "You really should be careful. I've been standing here for a while and you didn't even notice."

Isabella chews at the inside of her pinked cheek to keep from smiling. She laughs to herself. "I feel relatively safe around you, Vanq…that sounds weird, but I don't know what else to call you."

I move inside her make-shift hideaway. "Hey you will suffice."

Isabella smiles and shakes her head. "They're looking for you. Aren't you worried you'll be seen up here?"

Looking around, it'd be impossible for anyone to see anything, unless it's from above. Her pergola needs a cover. "Not really. People are usually too caught up in their own lives to watch out for anything that doesn't affect them directly, but I don't intend to make it easy either. And your father has, _now,_ one functioning helicopter. It went one way, I went the other."

"You must be really fast," she says, teasing and relaxes again. She leans against the arm of the chair, propping her elbow there, her chin in her hand. This time I smile and shake my head. "Why'd you come here? Don't you have some place to go? Like your home or something?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was bothering you. I'll leave then."

"No," she says quickly, reaching up and grabbing my hand. For a moment we're both in shock, which for me isn't necessarily bad. I can't feel her skin, whether it is cool or warm, though I imagine it's very warm. And soft. My being shocked isn't bad, but where my thoughts are has the potential of being disastrous. She glances down at our hands and then releases. "No, that's not what I meant. I don't want you to go. I just wondered is all."

I put my hands behind my back. "It might be difficult to get back to there." And I'm not in the mood to deal with Jasper if he's there waiting for me.

"Oh," she says, simply. "Is it…never mind. I don't want you to think I'm trying to get information out of you." I don't say anything. After a moment, she gestures toward the yellow chair. "You can sit, you know. You don't have to just stand there."

"Does it make you uncomfortable if I stand?"

"A little. It's like you're going to run away any second."

I sit in the chair. "I won't be able to stay long," I say.

"Until dark because you have to go to wherever it is you live to do whatever it is you do," she says.

"Something like that." Her expression goes almost sad and I find I want to take back those words. Swallow them down.

She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. In the time it's taken for the skies to begin to darken we haven't said much. Perhaps this is a mistake, and I should stay far, far away from Isabella Swan.

Yet I am rooted to my seat.

"You're staring at me, Isabella," I blurt out, having a hard time coming up with anything else.

"Sorry," she says, unapologetically, and doesn't avert her eyes. "You saved a bunch of kids today."

"Yes."

"Personally, I would have done more than throw that guy out the window."

"Is that so?"

"Probably not," she says and laughs. "Maybe. I don't know…Incidentally, you were staring at me too."

"Forgive my rudeness," I say.

"Forgive mine."

When I am out of my suit I don't think about her. I don't speculate about the temperature of her skin. I don't notice if her cheeks pink and my eyes don't roam toward her lips. But as I am now, it's different. I watch her movements, her lips when she speaks, and I'm still thinking about the possible, no, _probable_ softness of her skin. I could have gone anywhere but I chose to come here. I chose to be with her.

I rise from the chair. "I have to go." Before I do something stupid, I _have_ to leave.

"But you'll be back."

Like Pavlov's dog my response is instant. "Yes…Try to get some sleep tonight," I say, remembering her insomnia.

"Doubtful," she says, smiling.

"Goodbye, Isabella."

"Goodbye..." She stops herself from saying anything more. Undoubtedly, my alias really is as horrible to her as it is to me. "Bye."

* * *

Before everything else, before contacting Jasper or stripping off my suit or figuring out what I will do next, I open a drawer in my kitchen. I pull out a pad of paper and a pen then write myself a note.

_Be nice to Isabella._


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Fantastic.

My alter ego is leaving me notes on how I should treat Isabella Swan.

What I remember from yesterday is getting into Jasper's car. Changing into my suit in the backseat—the goddamn back seat of a 1986 Plymouth like some high school kid for fuck's sake. I remember entering through a window on the top floor, but then once inside the school my memory goes black. Not a damn thing until this morning. Even the blurred clips that'd shuffled through my mind last time evade me.

I left myself a note about Isabella. Not what went down inside the school or what happened after. _Be nice to Isabella._ And I wish I knew why her welfare was so much more important than anything else. Instead I watched myself on television. A skewed version of heroism versus recklessness is all I have to go by.

You'd think I'd be more considerate to myself.

I'm losing it.

"You're really wound up today," Jasper says.

"Shouldn't you be scrambling eggs at Marie's?" I say to him. I don't glance his way, instead focusing straight ahead, waiting for Tanya Conley and crew to take the mic for a press conference. I'm an outsider to my life, and I hate it. Never mind that I could turn the watch on his wrist into a puddle of gold, or unravel the scarf on the woman who stands in front of me just by a single touch, if I wanted. Whatever I can do in the suit is staying with me longer and longer. I warmed a cold cup of coffee on the way over, but I have no idea if by lunch I'll be able to do it again.

Still, I can do it now. Probably scale City Hall, too.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I'm taking a break," I tell him. School can wait for a while. "It's really none of your business anyway."

"Christ, Edward." He leans closer, lowering his voice. "You're a hero. Lighten up."

I laugh and it comes out more sardonically than intended. Whatever. Jasper mutters something under his breath, and I ignore him until Tanya, Swan, and Mayor Black step up to the podium.

Tanya shuffles a few papers then sets them in front of her. She wears her game face, but then I suppose she always does. As she opens her mouth to speak, the clicking and flashing of cameras begin. Eyes on her, I roll my neck. Make it pop and crack, and it feels good, for a second. But then she opens her mouth to speak. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we would like to take this time to thank the police officers and emergency personnel for their efforts in the apprehension of James Michael White yesterday. Their bravery during the hostage situation ensuring the children and staff of Grimshire Elementary remained unharmed is to be commended. Mr. White is being held outside of Delphian in an undisclosed location until trial…"

Someone deep in the crowd cuts her off, shouting, "What about Vanquish?" and I tilt my head toward Jasper. "They're hiding him from me."

"Let them." Jasper jerks his head toward Tanya and smiles.

She says, "We don't make it practice to condone the acts of criminals." Mayor Black and Swan stand stiffly off to the side. Both have their eyes trained somewhere, over the heads of everyone and neither give away a thing. Whether they agree with her or not is a mystery. I'm not sure why they're here other than being an accessory to the We Hate Vanquish position Tanya passionately upholds. "Vanquish is a wanted man. He's wreaked havoc on this city by costing you, honest taxpayers, unnecessary dollars because of his antics. Not to mention, he's wanted for questioning for murder. It's not in this city's best interest to forgive those actions because he was able to throw Mr. White from a third story window."

"He saved those kids!"

"White deserved it!"

And with those, more pro-Vanquish concessions are yelled toward Tanya. This is going to turn into a circus any minute.

"What're your thoughts? Are you for or against Vanquish?" asks a small brunette as Tanya tries to regain control. The brunette's glasses are perched on the edge of her nose and she peeks up, pauses scribbling in her notebook. Angela Weber has weaseled through the small mass of bodies and has ironically ended up next to me.

"I don't really care either way," I tell her.

"He's for Vanquish," Jasper interrupts. "As everyone should be." Jasper narrows his eyes at me, and I want to laugh at his reprimanding expression.

"So you think Miss Conley is wrong?" Angela asks. "Everything she said is true. He has caused a lot of damage to this city that's had to be paid for by people like you and me."

Jasper says, "What's a few dollars compared to our safety?"

She writes in her notebook then looks up at me. "Sure you don't have anything to add? Now's your chance to let the people know your thoughts."

Jasper nudges my elbow, and if I don't say something he'll surely speak for me. "He's just trying to do the right thing," I say then step forward.

By now the crowd is shouting in unison, but it's all just a cacophonous mess; Tanya has no control over these people. Finally, Mayor Black steps up.

He holds up his hands and wears the calmest expression he can muster. Black is a professional politician through and through. He says, "Ladies and gentlemen, please. Please, let's not get upset about this." He goes on until he has their ear, tries to explain Tanya's point of view as though he's acting as mediator, and then Swan steps up and nods to the mic, practically pushing Black aside.

"I'd like to address Vanquish directly," Swan says, and suddenly Jasper is right by my side again. "If you're listening, if you're in this crowd today…" He's very good. People instantly glance around, searching, but have no idea for what—sure as hell isn't me—and they're enamored with what he has to say. "I have a proposition for you. Just you and I speaking man to man. I'd like to ask for your assistance in something," he says. Tanya's jaw tightens, her eyes go wide for a second before she arranges her face to appear as if she's aware of Swan's plan.

My first thought is this is clearly some kind of ploy of his, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious, because Tanya has yet to unclench her fists, and I assume she has no idea what he's up to. The Mayor just stands there, smiling and nodding.

"I promise you won't be in danger, Vanquish. Contact me and we'll work on bridging this gap," he says, then pats the podium twice then three times.

"He's going to get hundreds of calls and every lunatic is going to show up on the police station's doorstep," Jasper says.

I shift from one foot to the other, watching the three of them walk back inside City Hall. "Probably," I say. "I have to run so I'll see you later."

"What? Where are you going? We have a few things to do, Edward," Jasper says under his breath.

"Later," I tell him. "This can't wait."

* * *

My father has his hands clasped together between his knees. His shoulders are stiff, as is every other inch of him, and he's yet to look up at me. He sits in a simple desk chair, I'm sitting on the edge of his single bed, and even though there's five feet between us it feels as though there's none and one hundred.

I started out with one thing in mind: to find the ones who'd hurt my family, but in the past weeks I've gone off course. Diverted by the thing that was supposed to give me the means to find and destroy.

I'd lived a lifetime hating my father, blaming him for things that were out of his control, and now here I am hunting for answers irrelevant to any of it. Not in a millions years would I have wagered that I'd seek his help with anything, and what's even more surprising is how much I hate this place he's condemned to.

"I've worn the suit," I tell him, but he doesn't react. I have to stop myself before I sound as if I'm speaking to a child. This whole gentle approach thing is foreign, but I keep my tone as even as possible. "Do you know what I'm talking about?" He barely nods. Okay, good. He can understand me. "It's had a strange affect on me."

His brow creases, and then his foot taps against the floor as quickly as a rabbit's heartbeat.

"Carlisle," I say, but his foot is still going, his knuckles are turning white, and he takes shaky breaths through his nose. "Carlisle…_Dad!_"

His head shoots up, and his body goes rigid again. "I…I'm sorry." He stares at me for a moment with those cloudy eyes of his. "Rose?"

Hearing my father say my sister's name is as strange as calling him dad. Yesterday, I might have had an acerbic reply, but today I can't find it within myself to be cruel. "She's safe. Sleeping."

"That's good," he says. "You keep her."

I can only nod. Rising from the bed, I walk over to his window and lean against it. The fog is thick hovering over the hills out there, but not that bad and still, no one is outside, and I wonder if they ever allow anyone to walk the grounds. Looking back at my father, he's in the same position he was when I first arrived, and I don't know whether to press him or try again another time. I glance around.

He has one photo taped to his wall. It's a 4x5 of the four of us: him, my mother, sister, and me. We're standing in front of our house in one of those family poses that are taken right after you've turned the lights on for the first time at Christmas. Rose is twelve, and I'm nine—I remember this picture being taken. We'd worked all morning and most of the afternoon putting up those decorations. My father had stayed for dinner, and then he left not to return until Christmas Eve.

I clear my throat. This is the only picture he has in his room. I pull out my wallet and slide out Rose's graduation picture. Kneeling in front of him, I hand him the photo and say, "Here."

He smiles and like the last time I saw him, he begins to cry a little. "I need you to listen to me. The suit you made works, but there are some…side effects, apparently." Carlisle's eyebrows knit together, and before he zones out again I think the easiest way for him to understand, to keep his attention is to show him.

I walk back to the window. "Just…watch." It's been a few hours—I'm not positive I'll still be able to do anything, but I have to try.

Nothing happens at first, and I spread my fingers wider against the glass, concentrate harder. But then I feel the slightest shudder. One crack then three then more splinter out, reaching the edge of the glass. Carlisle continues to stare. He's not shocked or horrified or even enlivened, but he's focusing.

This part is more difficult, so I put him out of my mind, close my eyes. I curl my fingers inward, pulling, willing the cracks to shrink until they've disappeared.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"No."

Carlisle sets Rose's picture on the floor then lifts his hands up to his face. With the index finger of his right, he makes circles on the palm of his left. He taps his finger against his palm then acts as if he's writing on it. He rocks and hums while he does this; I give him a few moments. I have no idea what I'm dealing with, what this means, or if tomorrow he'll remember. Or if he'll say anything to anyone, like Jasper.

Jasper. He was the one who'd taken that picture of us. I remember. Yet it's the only photograph he's provided for my father. Is this too much?

"Carlisle."

"Yes," he says, still writing on the palm of his hand.

"Can you tell me why this is happening?"

He drops his hands and looks down again, shaking his head.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up Rose's photo and hand it to him. "Alright. I'll see you another time."

My hand's on the knob of the door, and just as I turn it he tells me that he loves me.

Perhaps I should have offered some kind of response before I closed the door behind me, but I'm not ready for that type of reunion. Don't know if I'll ever be.

These halls are long and narrow and stark, and I consider, for a second, if maybe my father would do well somewhere else. Taking a left toward the exit, I near the common room which exudes the only sounds of life in this place, so that second turns into something a little bit longer, and I wonder if I even have the power to remove him.

I pass by the room, glance over and Alice is staring at me through the window. She bangs on the door hard, repetitively, and her crazy eyes narrow. She purses her lips and kisses the glass. "Edward! Edward!" she growls through it, "I love you, Edward!" and then she's snatched away.

Outside the asylum, I pull out my phone and type a text to Jasper, asking his thoughts about relocating my father. But then I hit delete—what if I am able to move him and he's made worse. I can't take that risk right now.

* * *

Once twilight has long since morphed into night, I head to Sages Bridge, which is accessed only by 23rd Avenue. Two then three taps on the podium and a mention of bridging the gap—this is where Swan wants to meet me. He's not very creative.

Now, he can't climb the suspension cables nor can he travel the grates underneath. The walking path is lit, though sporadically by few working lights, so I'm curious as to where he expects to have this mano a mano conversation.

He gave no time or date but he's an immediate kind of guy, so here I am. However, I won't wait long.

Bums have already gathered at both ends of the bridge, warming their hands over trash can fires. Undercover cops? Perhaps. Would he assume that'd I'd be standing on the upmost point of the bridge? Another probability. But there are no helicopters around—no whir of propellers or shadows atop any building. No sharpshooters that I can see either.

Still, for him to announce in public that he'd like to meet…well, I'm sure some of his colleagues wouldn't let him out of their site if he's gone rogue.

I let another twenty minutes pass before deciding to leave, but then a small boat slows to a drift and turns off it's overheads. A small light from the deck quickly flashes—twice, three times, and whoever is on the boat, because it isn't Swan, throws something into the river.

* * *

A/N: I'd like to quickly thank everyone for reading and reviewing, and also apologize for not replying this last time around, but I do appreciate and get a little giddy when you leave them.

I've also joined the world of Twitter. I'm boomboom_jones if you'd like to say hello.

Stay safe East Coasters.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

He lingers, as do I. His silhouette is motionless amid the rocking of the boat. Even dressed in dark clothes and a dark baseball cap which hides his face I know it's not Swan, because this person is much larger than he. He flashes his light in the same pattern as before, puts the engine into drive, and speeds off.

I don't enjoy the idea of fetching anything for anyone, but whatever he's thrown into the river is clearly meant for me, and if I don't retrieve it someone else might. But then I also want to know who _he_ is.

It made little splash when he threw it in. Light enough not to sink though heavy enough that it plainly bobs from the waves and is being pushed quickly toward the embankment. The boat is about a half-mile away, now. The docks are another mile down the river and if he drives faster I may not be able to catch up to him before he pulls into them, but then again maybe I will.

I dive in; the boat's engine sputters and stalls which is followed by a frustrated, _"Fuck!"_ But the trouble he's having is not my doing—must be divine intervention at work.

This thing is no bigger than a cigar box; it's sealed in plastic and weighs a pound or two. He gets the engine going again, and I move. I swim until the erratic hum of the motor is loud in my ears and the bubbles it makes are in my line of vision. And then I climb aboard, toss the box onto the bench, and stand behind him.

We are the same height, but he's broader than me even under the heavy jacket he wears, and it's possible that if we were to face each other in another circumstance—like me out of my suit—a confrontation could go either way. As it is, his size is inconsequential.

He's gripping the wheel, completely focused straight to where the docks are. His breathing is nearly as erratic as the motor and he inhales deeply to calm himself. There are other crafts anchored around, but because it's midnight it's quiet. If I were him I'd be nervous too.

I lean closer and whisper in his ear. "What's in the box?"

He barely jumps, muttering another _fuck_ under his breath. "I'm on your side," he says, slowing the boat, before cutting the engine. "I swear to God I am." He raises his gloved hands and turns, slowly, methodically, like a cop would do.

"Who are you?" I ask, but I already know, and it boggles my fucking mind.

"Jake Black." He speaks quickly. "What's in the box is proof that you didn't kill Petrescu and a request from the Commissioner about answering his plea to you." His hands are still raised, he's placed his feet sturdy against the floor, and his breaths are measured, coming out in white puffs against the cold air.

"What kind of proof?"

"Video. The full tape that they didn't show on the news."

I shake my head. "That makes no sense. Why give it to me?" I ask. "Why not turn it over to the DA?" I listen for anything out of the ordinary, check my periphery, regard Jake for any signs that he's lying…or stalling.

"They're the ones who buried it," he says. "Look, we don't—"

"Who're we?"

"Just me and Commissioner Swan. No one else knows about this."

"Then why'd he go public? Say he wanted to talk to me directly?"

"Because that's what he'd do anyway. It's how he works. He cuts through the bullshit and does his job, man. He's a good guy, and so am I." He pauses for a moment and finally drops his hands. Jake looks around then continues. "What's on the video was enough to convince us it wasn't you. We don't know who it is, but the person is built differently, shorter. Their movements were rough, unlike yours, and then there's the autopsy. We know your strength—the injuries he sustained were sloppy and there was a struggle, so we're assuming if you wanted to kill him it would have been done neater, quicker. The Commissioner wanted to view the tapes of all the exits, but those were conveniently misplaced, and it became clear to us there's a cover-up going on." The way he's spewed out this information is as if he's rehearsed it, but I don't think that's it. He wants to get off this river. "And then you saved my nephew. He was the kid you communicated with in that classroom."

"Your nephew," I say, and he nods. "What do you expect me to do with this information?"

Jake takes off his hat, scratches the back of his head. "Nothing. It's our way of letting you know you can trust us…and help us figure out what's going on."

"How big is this risk you're taking by being here?"

"Pretty big," he says. "Charlie would have come himself, but he didn't want to put his wife and daughter in any danger, since we know they're watching him." I nod, and something rips inside as I think about Rose. Think about Isabella. "Besides, this was my idea."

"And they're not watching you."

"Not likely. There're mixed feelings about you at the station—I keep to myself."

"But you're not positive." He shakes his head.

I ask him about his father, Mayor Black, and he tells me that the mayor has no clue about any of it. So then I ask if he thinks his father is part of the cover-up. "No," he says, "and I don't want him part of _this_, either. Not until we know exactly what we're dealing with."

Jake swallows then turns the key in the ignition.

I pick up the box from the bench and before jumping back into the river, I ask, "Why would you think I'd help you?"

He blinks, stunned that I'd ask. "Isn't this what _you_ do? Seth, my nephew, told me all about how you handled White, and the only thing that helps his nightmares is the assurance his parents and I give him that you're out there and he's safe. Don't make a liar outta me."

* * *

I couldn't go home until I knew they were both okay.

Rose was fine. The same. Looked to be asleep just as I'd promised my father earlier today. She's the one constant in my life, never changing of course, but this is not the kind of invariable I'd wish for anyone. I stood by her bed and I wondered if she had thoughts, or nightmares that she was trapped inside of. If really she was screaming on the inside and wanted to truly go to sleep, to be set free. If I could manipulate the fibers in her brain, I would. If I could erase it all and bring her back, I would.

So I put my hands on her cheeks, but I didn't try to change anything, because I didn't know how. And then I thought maybe I wouldn't have to try and that maybe it would happen on it's own, like something would transfer from the suit to her.

When I left, she was still the same.

Now, I stand on Isabella's balcony and inside her apartment is dark, which is odd since she never sleeps. There's usually at least a light on, somewhere in there. Some kind of activity, but tonight it's silent.

I open her window and climb inside.

To my left is a wall splattered with pictures: photos of her and her family, of her and some guy. It's probably the one her grandmother told me about, Brady. And even though it's unjustified and inappropriate, I don't like it. I don't like the stab of jealousy in my gut.

There's also a couch and a chair, a table and more books, a small television. To my right is a tiny kitchen that would fit one comfortably, not two. Not unless they were familiar and close would two people fit in there. And there's a hall with a door at the end that's cracked open with a slant of flickering yellow light coming out.

She sighs and makes a small splash, and all I see is her knee, raised and glistening, white bubbles sliding down. This is wrong. _This_ is inappropriate, but I can neither move nor speak and I look at her skin, watch as she lifts her foot to rest on the edge of the tub, watch the steam rise and bubbles drip.

I swallow and clench my eyes shut, my jaw tensing, and turn my back to the door. I've done what I came to do. She's fine. I should go.

"I know you're there," she says, and this time I'm the one who's startled. "I heard you open the window."

"You didn't say anything." She swishes the water, and a minute passes. "Isabella?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

She's quiet for a long time, and I don't press. I lean against the frame, eyes down and just listen to her breaths and to the subtle movements she makes in the tub. I don't try to imagine her face or allow myself to recognize that on the other side of the door she's undressed, submerged in soapy, warm water.

Finally, she says, "Will you stay with me? Until sunrise?"

I nod. "Yes."

The box is secure, stuffed in a safe back at my apartment. The tape and whatever else might be inside can wait until morning.

What Jake said is true: Isabella will be in danger if they realize what Swan is up to. I can protect her like her father cannot, and he knows this. Both Swan and Jake are under the impression I go after bad guys and chase away little boys' nightmares because I'm like them. They're wrong. I'm nothing like them; we just happen to dislike the same people.

But Swan doesn't realize that I'd protect Isabella anyway.

My mind spins. The DA's office buried the evidence; they blamed me. It could be as simple as them wanting to bring back the kind of regime that was run when Caius was Commissioner. Get rid of me, the one they can't control, and voila. They have their corrupt city all to themselves again. But they hired Swan fully aware of his spotless record. It doesn't make sense.

"Still there?" she asks.

"I'm here." And I am, my attention right back on her.

"I'm getting out now," she tells me. The water gurgles down the drain, she shakes a towel, and I tell her _okay_.

But I glance back and through the crack, I catch sight of her arm and the curve of her hip. When she does come out of her bathroom, it will be with every ounce of restraint I possess to not take off my mask and kiss her.

I don't understand why or how this happened so quickly. We've barely talked about anything, and we don't know each other at all. I can't remember this deep pull to her, this need to be around her when I'm not…_this,_ and I want to know why.

I want her to know me.

She wears flannel pants and a sweatshirt and thick socks. The ends of her hair are damp and the rims of her eyes are red. We stand at opposite ends of the hall, just standing there, watching one another. This is what we do: stare, regard, think, but hardly talk, and I can't take it anymore.

"You've been crying," I say, and she shrugs. "Don't." And then she's in my arms, face buried in my chest, and I'm touching her. I'm smelling her hair and holding her and she's crying. Underneath this suit I am only human which implies I'm a selfish creature, and I am. Without a doubt I am, because I wish that in a few hours the sun won't rise.

* * *

A/N: If you get a moment, please check out my profile. FictionFreak95 made a banner, which is perfect, and I love it.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

For the longest time, Isabella lies in my arms. I sit still as stone, unable to breathe or move or speak, though not out of fear of slipping up but because I feel things.

She's curled up against me, palm flat against my chest, her other hand tucked against her own, and when she nestles further into me, I'm incapable of not reacting. I turn my head, brush my nose against her hair and when I do she lets out a shaky breath.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "It's nothing, really."

"It's something."

She doesn't shift or turn to face me; she just lies there until she falls asleep.

She's been sleeping for an hour, perhaps two; I don't know exactly how long, because I've been crouched beside her, watching her. She hasn't stirred at all, and I wonder if it's because she's sleeping so deeply, as if making up for the lack of it, that nothing could wake her. That leads me to my next thought: what might happen if I were to wedge myself into the little space that's left between her back and the cushions of the couch?

Nothing good. Everything wonderful.

With the tips of my fingers I brush back her hair, exposing all of her face, her ear. I want to know what her hair feels like in my hands. It's long and thick, and I want to see if it's silky like I know the rest of her must be, and then suddenly there's a flash of an image of me on top of her, inside her, and instead of glistening from bath water, she's glistening from sweat.

Her apartment begins to pale, the lines of furniture and things becoming definitive and the colors muted grays instead of nothing. We're bathed in indigo light and I run my fingers along her hairline and impulsively, lift my mask just over my mouth. She doesn't rouse when I kiss her temple, so I do it again. "Sleep," I whisper and pull myself away.

What would she say if she knew the truth about me? My motivation, my disregard for people who get in my way?

As I lift her window, and I feel her more than hear her come up behind me. Isabella presses her hand to my back, and I turn around.

Her expression is content, and her eyes are no longer red, but they're asking a question. She parts her lips. She doesn't need to say a word for me to understand, because I want it, too._ Just this one time_. "Close your eyes for me," I ask of her, and she does.

Isabella keeps her hands at her sides as I lift my mask. I hold her face, lean down, kiss her, barely touch my tongue to hers. We do this for seconds or minutes. It's quiet and slow. An introduction. The glorious hum that races through me is intense, unbearably perfect. Kissing her is the sweetest torture, and it's over too fast.

She reaches up to touch my jaw, but I stop her, hold her hand against me but she pulls it away. "Stay." Her eyes still closed, and even though she can't see me I shake my head. "Please," she says, and the hum turns into something else.

It's a weight, like I'm being sucked down, each pulse point throbbing, drumming to break out of my skin. It's not my feelings for her that's doing this—I want her, badly—this is different.

"I can't." But it could be too long until we're like this again, if ever. _One more time_. I kiss her, ignoring the heaviness and burning of my blood. It pushes through my veins like an angry ocean, and I concentrate on her lips. I let her touch my jaw this time, and I know I'm playing with fire, but need and want are nearly fucking impossible to deny.

It becomes too much, the rapture is quickly being overridden by discomfort. "I'm sorry," I say and pull back.

She's opened her eyes before I've entirely concealed my face. She may have seen a glimpse of my chin, at worst my mouth, but that's not enough for her to identify me.

Isabella takes a step back, touches her bottom lip and stares at me through glazed eyes. I can't tell what's going on inside her head, whether it's good or bad, but my body is thrumming and I'm anxious to get back to my apartment before I fall apart in front of her. She speaks so low that I can hardly hear her, "I don't think you should come back."

"Wh—why?" I'm gripping the frame of her window, unintentionally crushing the wood; I can't help it.

"It's a mistake. This is a mistake—I shouldn't have…I'm sorry," she says, backing up.

My hands tremble and where I felt weighed down before I now feel as if I'm floating. "I'm coming back," I manage. I have to go. I have to go.

* * *

_Jesus fucking Christ._

It's like my head is being cleaved in two. The sharp force behind my eyes is crippling. _Fuck…this pain. _I'm on fire, my insides charred, my muscles stiff, paralyzed, and then the stabbing behind my eyes again.

My body convulses, and I scream, my voice cutting my throat. I'm blind, deaf save for the pounding in my ears. I'm seizing? I am, I am. Jesus, just make it stop. Make it stop make it stop.

* * *

Jasper's hand is on my shoulder, and I'm naked, balled up on my floor, shaking.

"Edward! _Edward!_ What the hell happened?" he shouts, throwing a blanket over me. I feel his hand on my forehead, he lifts one of my eyelids, but it's too bright, and I can only look at him through the slits of my eyes. Jasper squats in front of me, blocking the sun radiating through the window. The distorted image of him is close to that of a reflection in a funhouse mirror, and I squeeze my eyes shut. "Has this happened before? Edward…can you hear me? Jesus Christ. _Edward_."

* * *

Behind the lids of my eyes I see shadows. It's light then dark and then again. Needles prick my skin. It's all at once and then it goes from my feet to the top of my head and back down. My heart pounds.

"_Edward?"_

* * *

It's dark and the inside of my mouth is bone dry. Every part of me is sore, like I've been hit by a bus or a train. Or maybe by a bus then a train. There's a dull ache in my temples, and I roll over bringing the blanket up around me, pushing my head further into the pillow. All I want to do is sleep.

"Edward?"

"Go away…Jasper, what are you doing here?" I rasp.

"I found you on the floor, Edward. You were in pretty bad shape, and I almost called for an ambulance, but…I don't think what's going on with you is something they could fix. It's the suit, isn't it? How're you feeling?" he says, rounding the edge of my bed. Jasper sets a bottle of water on the table then reaches for the lamp.

"Don't turn it on. What time is it and how'd you get in here?"

"It's ten, and you live in a dump. Not hard to get through your front door."

I sit up and unscrew the cap of the bottle, drinking down half of it. I eye him as he hovers and his concern is almost endearing. "Guess I'll be moving soon."

"Yes, I think you should. Tell me how you're feeling."

"Like shit. I was on the floor?"

He nods. "It took me a while to get you into bed—you weigh a little more than a feather. So, is it the suit? Has this happened before?"

"Flu," I say, shaking my head.

"Bullshit," he says, and hands me a piece of paper. "Can I turn the light on now?"

"No. What is this?"

He shoves his hands into his pockets. "You tell me, though you won't be able to read it in the dark."

"I can see it fine," I say without thinking. The scribble is as clear as day, but the actual words look as though they were written by a child. I flick my eyes toward Jasper and his head is cocked.

"You're telling me that in this dark room, where I can barely see five feet in front of me, you can read that…Does the light hurt your eyes?" he asks. To tell the truth, I'm too afraid to find out. The pain from this morning is still a little too fresh in my mind. Still, I don't answer him and realize that my eyesight is close to perfect. "For crying out loud. How long has this been going on? Edward!" he shouts and I wince.

"Not long," I concede.

"You need to tell me everything so I can help you. Can you do that, please?"

"Help me how?"

"I won't know unless you start enlightening me as to what your body goes through in and out of the suit. You shouldn't be suffering like this. Have you forgotten I was there when your father made it for you?" he says.

"I haven't forgotten."

"Good. Then let's figure this out."

After I've showered and dressed, it's close to eleven. Jasper takes pages of notes from my recollection, and lack thereof. He asks question after question, wanting specific details of reactions, levels and length of pain, et cetera, and I end up telling him everything I'm able. He's impressed, very excited, about my abilities outside the suit.

I'm feeling normal again, at least normal for me, I guess. All I know is that my head is clear and my body no longer aches. This, too, impresses him. At any rate, all of the information I've shared will hopefully keep him occupied and he'll back off me being Delphian's Poster Boy for Good.

There are four words on the note which are written in jagged strokes: safe, Bella, pain, and Jake.

I don't know what any of them mean, except of course, for Bella, and I'm more than curious why her name continues to pop up. The only thing that makes sense is that because she's the Commissioner's daughter, I need to be on good terms with her. Jasper mentions nothing about her name, but it's apparent he wonders. Instead, we try to figure out what I'm telling myself until finally, I deduce I need open my safe.

We watch the video on loop, both making assumptions, pausing, restarting, pausing again. This seems like a waste of time to me. We already know it's not me, and the Commissioner's telephone number? What exactly am I supposed to do with it?

"Think," he says, and I stand. "You remember getting to the bridge, right? Concentrate on what happened after that."

"I'm trying," I snap, pacing back and forth.

"Try harder."

"None of this has anything to do with Rose, Jasper. I don't give a fuck about joining forces with Swan or Jake Black, and I sure as hell don't want to spend my nights having secret meetings on boats with either of them."

He pushes himself out of the chair. "Is that what happened? Do you remember?"

"What?" He repeats what I said. "I don't know. It just came out." _This is so messed up_. "It feels like it did, but I can't picture it if that makes sense. I don't know." Jasper writes this down, too, and I scrub the back of my head. I smack my hand on the corner of the wall, taking a chunk out of it in the process. He looks up at me with an apologetic expression. "Can you fix this?"

"I'm going to try," he says. "But I don't know if I can do it alone—I need your father."

Awesome. "I went to visit him already." Jasper raises his eyebrows, and I shrug. "I wanted to see if he could tell me anything, but he's barely coherent. How the hell do you expect him to help?"

"Maybe by both of us working at it, Edward. I'm not sure what other options we have. We'll go tomorrow or at the latest, the day after tomorrow, alright? But before then, call the number Commissioner Swan gave you. See what he wants." I hesitate, unconvinced that I should have even an inkling of concern about Swan. For whatever reason, I don't care like I did yesterday, but then Jasper walks up to me. "Just see what he has to say."

* * *

I purchased a disposable phone and took a cab out of the city, opposite the direction of the hospitals where my sister and father are, and then walked to a place devoid of people. The signal isn't great on the edge of these woods, but it'll have to do.

If anyone listening on Swan's end attempts to trace the call and send people after me, it'll be easy to escape in the mass of trees. I'm still fast, still maintain my talents, but I need to be somewhere away from surveillance cameras and my family.

Kneeling with my back leaning against the base of a tree, I dial his number. He picks up after the second ring. "_This is Swan," _he says, his voice gruff.

"You wanted to speak with me."

He clears his throat. _"Yes, thank you for calling. I was told you've been informed of the situation."_

"If by situation, you're referring to me being set-up, then yes."

"_Unfortunately, I am, but if we work together we can make a lot of changes. Give the people stability and a sense of safety."_

I pluck a blade of dead grass then flick it into the air. "_We_. Not interested."

"_I don't understand,"_ he says.

"You seem to have misconceptions about me, Commissioner. I have a certain way of doing things, alone, and being at your beck and call isn't very appealing. So the DA is dirty. Don't really care," I say, but as I do I'm having a hard time believing my own words.

"_I can't tell you how disappointed I am to hear that. Both myself and my…colleague are putting a lot on the line here. Things are about to get real bad, and we might have a chance if you help us."_

"Bad how?" For who? Him or me?

"_Peter Joham's coming to the city. Ever hear of him? No? Look 'em up and then call me back if you change your mind. Otherwise, good luck."_

His line goes dead.

* * *

In the days that follow, I visit my father with Jasper between working at the deli. Jasper's optimistic. Me? Not so much. Carlisle continues to write on his hand and zone's out every few minutes. At the earliest, it'll be years before Jasper is able to get whatever information he needs, if ever. Until then I'm reluctant to wear the suit again, even though my abilities weaken daily.

The gaping holes in my memory are nothing compared to going through what I went through last time without a guarantee it won't be worse.

But then I looked up Peter Joham. He's a philanthropist, one who concentrates in funding disease research. The articles online show him to be heroic—without his money I doubt a cure would have been found for ALS, which is probably why he was acquitted in a kidnapping case he was involved in. The women were determined to have staged everything, from their disappearance to being found in an abandoned warehouse. Seems Peter Joham's money is worth a lot to a lot of people, even if it means destroying innocent people. If he's coming to Delphian I'm sure it has to do with the DA's office. Swan may be right: things are going to get bad.

I don't want to wear the suit again. Not until I have some kind of assurance it's not going fry my brain or throw me into cardiac arrest, but there's something in my gut telling me I may not have a choice.

It's Sunday, the day I reserve for my sister. Her room smells a little stale, so I crack the window, leaving it open only long enough to let in some fresh air. Who will do these things if something happens to me? Who'll talk to her and take care of her out of compassion and not duty? Emmett would, he does, but it's not enough. Jasper? I don't know.

Isabella would. I considered it before, but now I can't think of a better option.

I call down to reception and ask Shelly if they still have her number on file.

"_Hello?"_

"Isabella? It's Edward. Edward Cullen." She's quiet, and I realize I might have to beg. "Would you be interested in sitting with my sister again?"

"_Um, I don't know. I don't think that's such a good idea,"_ she says.

"Please. I'll apologize a thousand times for my behavior if that's what it'll take. I just…please, Isabella."

"_Are you alright?"_

"Yes, I'm fine. So, would you? Maybe come down if you're not busy?"

"_Now?"_ she says.

"If you're not busy, now would be great."

She sighs. "_Sure. I'll be there in about an hour."_

When Isabella walks into Rose's room, she pauses in the doorway. I get out of my seat, offer a smile and then ask to take her coat. Her hair gets caught up in her scarf as she unravels it from around her neck. I try to help by grasping a handful of it, and she turns around to thank me. It's awkward and then my eyes lock onto her lips. _Oh shit._

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Theories?


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Just a few shared some theories, and while I won't confirm or deny any, I love your creativity. :D

Thanks for reading (and looking past typos).

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"What?' she asks. The space right between her eyebrows crinkles and she extends her hand to take back her coat. "Something wrong?"

_I've kissed her_. My eyes flick back and forth from hers to her mouth. Holy shit, I've kissed her. I look toward the floor, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Sorry…thank you for coming. Come in." Isabella folds her coat over her hands and walks just a couple feet further into Rose's room. She stands there, looking about as uncomfortable as I am shocked, though my surprise is internal. I think. I hold up a finger. "Can you give me a minute?"

"Sure?" she says.

"Be right back." I step out into the hallway and walk toward the elevator, stopping a few doors down and lean against the wall, rest my hands on my knees and take in a deep breath.

This shit just keeps getting better and better.

Answers for when, where, how and definitely why are a complete and utter mystery. But I _know_ that we've kissed because I see it replaying in my mind. Her eyes are closed and her lips are full. More than that I feel it, like her taste is still on my tongue.

Before the black-outs and adverse reactions started, I never took chances while in the suit. I had as much fun as I could with a handful of assholes in what time was allotted, but not once had I ever put my identity in jeopardy, and never had I entertained the thought of starting anything romantic with a woman.

What would she say if she knew the truth about me? Does she? Is that why she's here? If she's aware and plans to say anything to anyone, surely she would have by now. Isabella wouldn't have agreed to meet me otherwise; I'm certain of it.

I push myself off the wall and walk back to Rose's room with no idea how to approach this, or her.

Her back to me, Isabella sits in a chair, reading the newspaper to Rose. Her voice is soft. I don't say anything, just lean against the door and listen. I'd once been filled with anger at the scene before me, but in its absence there is something I can't quite put my finger on.

She reads for another minute or so then simultaneously turns the page and her head until her chin to meets her shoulder. "Is this alright?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." She nods and begins the horoscopes, and then asks when Rose's birthday is. "January 27th," I say.

"Aquarius. My mom's an Aquarius, too," she tells Rose. "But her birthday is in February…I'm going to talk to your brother now. I'd like to bring a few books next time and maybe he can tell me what you like."

_Next time_. Okay. I've almost forgotten why I called her.

She stands as I erect myself away from the door. The misty gray light outside the window has grown darker. "Looks like it's going to rain," I say.

Isabella glances out. "It does that a lot around here."

"Yeah, it does. So you'll come back?"

"I'll come back."

"Thank you. Can I show you a couple things?"

There's an uneasiness in my stomach that stems not from my uncertainty of Isabella knowing about my alter ego, but from bringing her into the part of my life I've worked so hard to shield. As I show her the monitors, the pictures on the wall, tell her about Rose's love of baseball and how I make sure there are always fresh flowers in her room, the unease sits like a rock because these are the measures people take when they're about to be replaced.

It's a perverse notion, but one that holds a certain amount of validity. Still, I watch Isabella nod in understanding. Watch her comprehend the things I tell her even if there's question in her guarded eyes.

I try not to look at her mouth.

An explanation for my change of heart is inevitable, and how to approach the mess I've unwittingly started becomes clear. As Vanquish I'll have to stay away from her, but as Edward I'll have to be her friend.

Specks of rain splatter against the window.

"I can come by once a week," she says, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her coat.

"Okay, yeah, that'd be great."

"Okay. I guess I can call you sometime about books? But I don't have your number, so…" She digs into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

"It's 352-8698," I tell her, and she asks if I want hers. "Already have it."

"Oh, right—you called me. Well, I'll talk to you soon," she says and heads toward the door. Isabella stops, turns around, glances over at Rose and then her eyes settle back on me. "Can I ask you something? Out here?"

It takes about two seconds to move into the hall, but in that short amount of time my heart pounds at the realization that perhaps she does know.

As she opens her mouth to speak, I interrupt. "Because I was wrong before. Emmett spoke very highly of you, and my sister deserves more than just Sunday visits from me. I'm sorry—I shouldn't have treated you the way I had," I say, hoping that's all she was searching for.

"No, you shouldn't have," she says. "You're very protective over her, aren't you?" _Okay._ I shrug, and she waves her hand while shaking her head. "Sorry, none of my business…um, I don't have classes Wednesday mornings so I can come then."

"It's not that, Isabella, I—"

"You have to stop calling me Isabella. Whatever your reasons, they're yours, but please, call me Bella. Isabella is too, I don't know…Anyway, it's Bella."

"Alright. Bella it is, and Wednesdays are fine. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome," she says and makes this face like she can't believe she's just agreed to do a favor for me. We stand here, silently, and I don't respond to the expression she wears. That crinkle is back between her eyebrows, too. There's a small part of me that wants to gently smooth it out with my thumb.

I shove my hands into my pockets and she turns to walk down the hall to board the elevator. My heart is still pounding.

* * *

I call Shelly to let her know that Bella will be visiting on a weekly basis. She tells me she thinks it's a wonderful idea and that she'll update Emmett, which is good because right now I don't know if I'd be able to convince him that this change in routine isn't more than it is.

"This'll be good, don't you think?" I say to Rose and sit on the edge of her bed. "You'll like Bella, Rose. She's kind and…she's a nice person. I'm still going to come on Sundays, but now you'll have more company. She can talk to you about girl stuff, because you _know_ I'm clueless about those things."

I smile, moving off her bed, thinking about the times our mom had been working and all she'd had was me to ask about a certain outfit or if her hair had looked stupid. I'd tell her everything looked fine, and she'd rolled her eyes at me. But then she'd still ask again the next time. Rose had never complained when our mom had worked nights to bring in extra money because our dad hadn't been around. She'd just gone with it, acted like she hadn't been bothered at all.

"He couldn't help it," I say, sitting in the same chair Bella had occupied. "Apparently, Dad had some problems that weren't his fault. I've seen him and he's doing okay. Not great, but okay. He's been…he was kind of sick for a while. Still is, but he could get better. He didn't leave us, Rose, and I know he's missed you. I don't know why Mom didn't tell us, but I'm sure she knew what was best, right?

"He asked about you, so whenever you're ready how about you give me some good news to take back to him." Over the sound of rain pelting the window is the clicking of Dr. Gerandy's shoes as he walks into the room. I've avoided him the past few weeks, always visiting while he's not on duty. Leaning closer to Rose, I whisper, "I'll see you next time."

As I rise from the chair, put on my coat, he positions himself directly in my path to the door. "We need to talk, Edward," he says. "It's been well over a year with no change. I think it's time we—"

I push past him. "No."

* * *

The cab drops me at the edge of the city where there's nothing but liquor stores and neon signs flashing _XXX_.

"Sure you don't wanna go further?" he asks. "Rain's comin' down and this here place ain't too nice."

"No, I'm good," I say, paying my fare.

Down the way a bit is a phone booth. The light inside it flickers and one of the glass panes is shattered; I hope to Christ it works.

Under the eave of a liquor store across the street, a woman with long, poker straight blonde hair wearing little more than fur and fishnets leans back against its brick wall. She stares at me as I pull the door of the booth closed. She cocks her head when I take my wallet out of my back pocket and then holds up two fingers. Twenty? Two hundred?

I turn around, pick up the receiver and dial his number.

"_This is Swan."_

"If you want my help I'll need something in return."

"_I can't make any promises."_

"Then you're on your own," I say, and the lights inside the booth blink, threatening to go out.

"_Tell me what you want,"_ he says quickly. _"I'll do my best."_

"That's not good enough, Commissioner. At your suggestion, I looked up Joham. I know what he was accused of …you have a wife and daughter, don't you?" It's a shitty thing to say.

He pauses. _"What do you need?"_

"A secured way into to your computer system. I'll need access to everything."

"_How am I supposed to do that without raising suspicion?"_

"You'll figure it out just like you found a way to safely contact me." At the sound of a car slowing, I look over my shoulder. A black Mercedes stops along the curb in front of the blonde. She saunters over, gets in, and the car pulls away. The license plate audaciously reads _JOHAM_. "He's in town, Commissioner, and I know there's more to it than what I've dug up on him. Provide me with access and I'll help you—it's not a difficult decision."

"_Fine. Give me forty-eight hours."_

* * *

It's Monday morning, and there's a line of people extending from the cash register to the door of the deli. Marie shouts breakfast orders to Jasper, and he hands me a couple green peppers.

"Chop these, will ya?" Under the customer's chatter and sizzle of the grill, I've filled Jasper in on my conversation with Swan. Kissing Bella, though, I chose to leave out. "Good. Two days isn't that long," he says and lays out strips of bacon while I slice the peppers. Two days feels like a lifetime to me. "We should visit your father this afternoon. I really think the more you're around him, the faster we'll find answers as to what's going on with the suit."

"Yeah, well, not sure I believe that."

Marie says, "Pick up the pace, you two! And give me a sausage biscuit to go!"

Jasper moves surprisingly masterful at the grill. His timing is spot on, nothing leaving the grill burned or undercooked. "I think this is your true calling," I tell him, dumping my not so masterful work into a bowl. He narrows his eyes.

He wraps up an order and hands it to me. "We do what we have to do, don't we, Edward?"

"I suppose we do." I drop the order into a paper bag and hand it off to Marie.

"Thanks, sweetie," she says and turns her attention to the door opening to yet another customer. In walks Bella and Marie's smile goes wide. "How's my girl?" she says.

"I'm alright, Gran. How're you?" she says, making her way past the line. She looks at me. "Hi, Edward."

"Hi," I say.

"Um, Gran? Mind if I steal Edward for a minute?" she says.

"By all means! Jasper and I have it covered." Marie gently pushes me toward the end of the counter. The woman isn't subtle.

I follow Bella outside.

Her head is down as we walk along the damp sidewalk. She hunches her shoulders against the cold, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

"Everything okay?" I ask, and she peeks up at me.

"I don't know," she says.

"How'd you know I'd be at Marie's this morning?"

Bella points to an alley and we go in. "I didn't."

"So, you just happen to find me at your grandmother's restaurant and decide to bring me to an alley?" I say.

"Not exactly." She laughs uncomfortably.

Bella's eyes search my face; she shakes her head, and my pulse quickens. "Just say it."

"Have you ever told yourself that if A happens you'll do B? Kind of like flipping a coin, but the coin is the event that may or may not happen? Or something like, 'If I make this basket then I'll do _this_.'"

"If you saw me at the deli then you'd…what?"

"I usually try to protect myself against uncertainties, Edward," she says, pulling off her gloves. "In fact, last night I decided that I was going to call you to say that I changed my mind about sitting with your sister, but then I couldn't sleep, thinking maybe _that_ would be a mistake. I've been up all night, and here you are and I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing, but it feels right." Bella reaches up and touches my jaw, and I don't move away. Instead, I lean closer to her. "You said you were coming back." And then she kisses me.


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Well this update took forever and a day! Sorry! As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Your thoughts and comments mean a lot, and I'm thrilled that you're still enjoying this fic.

Refresher from the last chapter:

Bella's eyes search my face; she shakes her head, and my pulse quickens. "Just say it."

"Have you ever told yourself that if A happens you'll do B? Kind of like flipping a coin, but the coin is the event that may or may not happen? Or something like, 'If I make this basket then I'll do _this_.'"

"If you saw me at the deli then you'd…what?"

"I usually try to protect myself against uncertainties, Edward," she says, pulling off her gloves. "In fact, last night I decided that I was going to call you to say that I changed my mind about sitting with your sister, but then I couldn't sleep, thinking maybe _that_ would be a mistake. I've been up all night, and here you are and I have no idea if I'm doing the right thing, but it feels right." Bella reaches up and touches my jaw, and I don't move away. Instead, I lean closer to her. "You said you were coming back." And then she kisses me.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Bella's palm is spread flat against my chest, she squeezes my neck with her other hand and her nails scratch at my skin. To any passersby we'd appear to be a couple sneaking off, stealing a few moments to ourselves. I let myself hold her face in my hands and I kiss her back.

It's…wonderful.

I don't remember the last time I felt like this or the last time I let go. Her mouth moves with mine, like we've done this many, many times. Maybe we have. She smells good and I want her perfume on my clothes hours from now. _Pull back,_ I tell myself. _Stop_.

I bring her closer, walk her back until she's pressed against brick and I'm pressed against her. She tastes so damn good and I want more. I want too much, every part of me molding into her. I fill up the space in her curves, taking it, making it mine, and she responds by holding me tighter, bringing me even closer. There are only strips of fabric separating me from her, from all of her. _Jesus_, I want that.

She's wrapped her arms around me, and my hand is on her waist, the other in her hair. I could easily get lost in this, I could. I _am_. I hear and feel nothing but her.

_Stop._

I'm a stranger in this, and she has no idea.

"Bella," I say, and my voice comes out in a rasp.

Reluctantly, I move my hands to the wall, but I don't want to give up touching her just yet and keep my forehead pressed against hers. She's fisting my shirt so tightly that her knuckles are pale.

"Don't say it," she says.

I dig my fingers into the concrete, dust showers down in her hair. "I wasn't." Bella plays with a button on my shirt and I wish I could close a door to shut out all that's going on outside this alley, because I need more of this. "When did you figure it out?"

She looks up at me. There's a hesitance in her eyes that unnerves me. I _should_ be nervous._ I_ don't know anything about her—the other me does. Whatever it is that's locked up in those memories seeps through by way of a sensation that's embedded in nearly every inch of my skin.

"Tell me," I say and touch her bottom lip with my thumb, but I lean down to kiss her one more time before she has a chance to speak. What if what she has to say isn't something I want to hear.

I'm not foolish enough not to understand that this must mean something different to her. Reassurance, probably. I don't know, maybe it is for me too; her body touching my body and her mouth on mine sure as hell makes it feel like everything is going to be okay.

I want normalcy.

I pull back a little; her cheeks are flushed and she shakes her head. "I didn't figure it out." Bella brushes her fingertips down my chin. "Jasper told me."

And just like that it's gone.

White hot heat creeps up the back of my neck. "He did what?"

"Please don't be angry with him."

"Bella," I start, then realize I've pushed my hand further into the wall behind her. Stepping back, I clasp my hands behind my neck. "He had no right, especially since he didn't even know about us. It'd be one thing if I'd told him about you and…well, me, but I didn't."

"He warned you'd be mad," she says.

I laugh. "Mad doesn't even begin to cover it. Who the hell does he think he is? He _warned_ you? What the fuck? He shouldn't have said anything, Bella." She stands there, looks back up at me with this expression of betrayal. Fuck. "He _should_ have left it up to me," I say, softening my tone and take her hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going? I don't think confronting Jasper right now would be such a great idea, Edward."

"We're not. We're going to talk more at my place." I say, leading her toward the street. But I think about how easily Jasper enters my apartment and how he shows up whenever he chooses. "On second thought, we're going to yours." We get to the mouth of the alley and Bella notices the dust on her shoulders, on the ends of her hair. She glances back at the wall and then up at me. I shrug. "Sorry."

* * *

"So nothing looks familiar," Bella says, handing me a cup of hot tea. I hate tea, but I thank her and take a sip anyway. Needs more honey, or something...Bella needs a coffee pot.

She sits on the couch next to me, one leg curled up under the other, her arm on the back of the couch. I look around her apartment again before turning to face her.

"Nothing."

"Guess my kisses aren't all that memorable," she says, smiling, and rests her temple on her hand. She plays it cool, unaffected, but it's clear she's not. It's all in her eyes.

"They are, but in a different way," I say and she looks down. I have the urge to reach toward her and do it again, but I'm still completely in the dark. I sit back. "I need you to tell me everything, Bella. What Jasper said to you, how you and I started, what happened while I was here…"

She nods, setting her tea on the table. "This is strange. Like I'm talking to you about someone else but it's really you I'm talking about."

"Crazy, isn't it?" My anger toward Jasper hasn't abated, but I'm almost relieved she knows, though I don't plan to admit that to him.

"Jasper called last night and asked if he could come over. He said it was urgent, but I shouldn't be worried. Well, _that_ worried me, but also because _he_ called in the first place.

"Edward, he's concerned about you. The whole gist of our conversation was about—maintaining two identities that are obviously not crossing over. He said I could help."

I tilt my head. "He took a risk, Bella. You only knew me as the jerk who yelled at you the first time you saw me and who's to say you wouldn't have told your father? He couldn't have predicted your reaction."

"Well, no, but he was pretty confident I wouldn't turn you in. Something about having some kind of guarantee in his ear?" she says and shrugs, confused.

"A guarantee."

"Yeah."

I look up at the ceiling and laugh. He's unbelievable. "Alice."

"Who's Alice?"

"Someone who seems to have an eerie sixth sense," I say, and she creases her forehead. "You don't want to know."

"Actually, I do."

"Bella…"

"Look, when Jasper first told me that you're Vanquish, I was angry. Like really pissed," she says. "I thought it was some kind of joke, you know? I mean, yeah, there had to be _someone_ underneath the mask, but I never thought it'd be you, especially since it's been so awkward between us. But with Vanquish…it wasn't. It didn't make sense, and I thought the way you'd been so uptight around me that it was your way of me not guessing who you really were," she rambles. Bella squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "Anyway, when you were in your suit…we just _connected_.

"Jasper explained the loss of memory thing. He asked me not to tell anyone, but he threw that in as an afterthought, sort of…knowing that I wouldn't, I guess. Of course, I confirmed that I never will, and I won't, so you don't need to worry. After a little while I wasn't mad anymore. It still didn't seem real, though. That it's _you_, I mean."

I set my tea on the small table in front of the couch as Bella turns a ring she wears around her pinky. "So you tossed a coin, even though you knew."

"Something like that."

"Disappointed?"

"I kissed you, didn't I?" I lean toward her. "I understand that this is all happening so fast. To _this_ you, it's new, but as the other you it's not and I'm trying to comprehend what that must be like, but I promise, Edward, you can trust me."

Bella touches my hand. She holds my eyes with hers. She drags her fingers up and down mine, over my knuckles, and it feels so good. I'm amazed how she can so easily erase everything else, and I think that this greatly has to do with why I kept coming back to her.

She's inches away and I smell her hair. Fruit and rain. Her eyes are soft brown and too innocent. I try to summon any memory of us but come up with nothing. I have no idea if I had an agenda when I started with her. I don't like the vulnerability that comes along with trust.

She tells me again, makes this promise, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I say.

She crawls onto my lap, straddles me, and my hands go straight to her hips. "Too late," she says. Her hands in my hair, she tugs a little. "I really wish you could remember."

I've pulled her into this thing and for that I'm sorry, but it's too late to change or to go back, because she's pulled me in to her.

"I was mean to you," I say, my eyes flick down to her lips.

"But you won't be again."

"No."

"Can I trust _you_?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Don't break my heart," she says.

"I won't."

Bella closes her eyes, presses her lips to the top of my head and I squeeze her hips. We should talk more, I think. That would be the right thing to do.

But she's sitting on my lap and we're not in an alley. She's warm and she smells so fucking good. I could kiss her neck, her collarbone. Slide her closer.

She lifts my chin and smiles, and this time it's real. "You weren't a jerk the first time we saw each other. That was the second. I saw you when my father was sworn in, Edward. I saw you," she says.

"I saw you, too."

* * *

In my dream it is completely dark. I'm sitting, standing—I don't know—but I'm blinded by black yet I have no fear. Floating, maybe that's what it is. I do feel light. The only thing holding me down are the sounds. Water splashing, gurgling. Rustling of clothes. There are whispers, too, but they're indistinct, undefined, like static in the back of my mind. And then suddenly there's Bella.

She's on her back and I'm looking down at her. All I see is a flash of her face, the tops of her bare shoulders. Her parted lips. She closes her eyes and I tell her to open them. _"Look at me,"_ I say and I slide up, push myself into her, again.

She says my name, grips my back. _"Edward,"_ she says.

"_Isabella."_ I don't hear my own voice, but I know that I say it. I feel it come out of my throat, across my lips. She wraps her legs around my waist and I rock into her. It's hard, fast and I'm close.

"_I'm so sorry."_

When I wake, I'm disoriented, still on the cusp of the dream. I never dream, so the only reason for having one now must be because my arms are wrapped around Bella and her face is buried in my chest. Her arms are tucked up between us and our legs are tangled. And I'm hard, as a rock. We're also fully clothed on her couch.

I have no idea what time it is. Midnight? 2 a.m.? The only immediate thing I need to do is contact her father about accessing police records. And deal with Jasper. Neither task is appealing at the moment, however.

Bella stirs and I brush my lips across the top of her head. "Sleep," I tell her and it oddly feels like an echo.

She tips her head back to look at me. "You're still here," she says, her voice thick with sleep.

"Where else would I be?"

"Not here?"

Yesterday, there was a lot of kissing, some talking. She showed me the roof of her building, made dinner. We kissed until we couldn't breathe, and it was all I could do to keep it that way.

"Don't be so surprised," I say.

She straightens her body, stretching her arms above us. "You've never stayed longer than a couple hours."

After dinner she told me that I've been coming for about a month. She said that at first I'd stay only on the balcony. _Total gentleman_, she said. I asked what we talked about. You'd think a month's worth of late night/early morning visits would take a while, but it didn't because it was so simple. _It's not so much what but how we were around each other,_ she said. _You were supposed to be here_.

"That was before," I tell her.

"What about the next time you wear the suit?" Bella lifts her eyebrows.

"What about it?" There has to be a solution. Now the aftereffects scare the shit out of me.

_We had a connection, whether you think that sounds crazy or not, you knew it,_ she explained, _you felt it,_ and I agreed.

She's scared, all the time. She'd watched her boyfriend die right in front of her. _There's more to it,_ I said. _To you being afraid_.

_Would you sacrifice yourself to save someone you loved?_ she asked, and I said that I would. _That's what I'm afraid of._

_But here we are_, I said.

We adjust so that she's flat on her back and I'm on my side. I twist a piece of her hair around my finger. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"You'll forget that time, again."

"Then you'll have to make sure I remember." I tug at her hair, lean down to kiss her. "It's all about trust, right?"


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: If the last update took forever and a day, this one obviously took forever and two. I sat on this chapter, rewrote it, went back to the original, etc., and then a few things popped up in real life. I can't promise things won't pop up every now and then, but I hope you'll stick with this fic. Thank you so much for reading. Also, thank you Jo and katinki for all the pimping but especially for being so great.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

My car idles quietly in the lot outside the asylum, and I grip the steering wheel, staring at the building. Even on the sunniest of days and if one were in the greatest of moods this place would still appear foreboding.

In the past days, I've done some thinking, made a few changes. This car, for one, is new as are some other things I've recently decided I need.

"Are we going in?" Jasper asks quietly. Beside me, his hands are folded in his lap and from my periphery I can see that he's staring straight ahead, too. I don't answer, and after a minute he says, "You can stay angry with me for as long as you like, but it was for the best that I told her."

I laugh. "Fuck, Jasper. You continue to make decisions that aren't yours to make. _Still_ throw scraps of information at me when it's convenient for you, and you've gambled what could potentially have been a disastrous outcome off what? An insane girl's premonition? She wanted to make soup from my hair and she rides around on an invisible horse for Christ's sake."

"Alice has been accurate about everything."

"You're playing around with my life."

"I'm helping you."

"I've heard that a lot lately. To do what, exactly?" I say. "All I want to do is find—"

"And you will. _We_ will, but Edward…" Jasper turns to look at me, "without me, you'd still be sitting in that dump of an apartment, pissed off, drunk, and in all probability would have contracted God knows what from that girl…what was her name? Charlotte?"

"I was grieving," I say, though I have little recollection since I did spend that time in the haze from whatever I poured down my throat. I'll have to take his word for the name of that girl. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Since you were too small to know anything," he says, sighing, but his voice is vacant of annoyance.

"Because my mother asked you to," I confirm, and he nods, scratching his jaw. There's a sadness in his face, his posture, and not once have I thought how this has affected him. After a pause, I say, "I still don't understand why you told Bella without talking to me first. What happened to you being forthcoming. I've kept up my end of the bargain about not being an asshole." Weeks ago I would have threatened to rip out his throat—I sure as hell would have had it in my hands. But now that Bella's in my life things are different. She's the good to my bad that I'm not willing to jeopardize.

"You wouldn't have agreed, Edward, let alone believe my certainty. I swear I'll never do anything to put you at risk." And then he laughs to himself, looking out the window. "I'm doing the best I know how," he says.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, but he doesn't answer. He reaches inside his coat pocket then hands me two envelopes. My name is written on one, Rose's on the other, in painfully familiar script. My throat tightens. "What is this?"

Jasper's brows knit together and then he looks back out the window. "Being forthcoming has everything to do with what a person can handle."

"You treat me like a child," I say, flicking the key ring in the ignition.

"I treat you like Carlisle's and Esme's child," he counters. "Go ahead and open yours. I'll wait for you outside."

The door clicks shut and Jasper walks down the lot a ways and onto the grounds. He sits on a cement bench that's near a bare, spindly oak, reaches into his pocket again and then lights a cigarette.

I didn't know he smoked, but that's neither here nor there. There's a lot he's holding back. With the solemn expression and the slumped posture and especially the way his hand trembles when he takes a drag it's obvious. Aside from threatening his life for information I don't know what else to do.

As I stare at the loops and slants of her handwriting my own hands tremble. And before I stain the envelope with the sweat that's built up on my palms, I open it, gingerly. Too afraid it might disintegrate. Or something.

_Edward,_

_My sweet, courageous boy, I love you._

_It's my hope you read this when you're an old man. That would mean I had you in my life for a very long time, and it's also my hope that everything I'm about to write will be already known to you, as I would have been able to explain a few things once you were capable of understanding them. So, for the sake of shielding ourselves from any unnecessary sorrow let's pretend my wishes came true._

_Right now you're a sophomore in high school, doing so well, and are the Wildcats starting third baseman. I'm so very proud of you. All I've ever wanted for you is happiness. But over and over again, I've questioned the decisions I've made to try to ensure that happiness, because though you're doing well on the outside, you're so angry on the inside, and it breaks my heart that I'm the reason. There are times parents do things to protect their children that in the end seem to hurt more than the truth might. I hope you'll forgive me for the decision I've made. _

_I was only nineteen when I first met your father – he swept me off my feet, literally. I was home from college during Christmas break, and on this one particular night I had gone out with a couple of girlfriends. The plan was to see a movie then grab a bite to eat, nothing too exciting, mind you, just some high school friends getting together. But while we were in the theater it had started to snow, and by the time we came out everything was covered in white. Beautiful to watch through a window with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but the snow was coming down so heavy and fast it made conditions treacherous. _

_So there we were, four college girls stranded downtown. We decided to make the best of it and rent a hotel room for the night. The hotel was a couple blocks from the theater, and the sidewalks were slick. We held on to each other slipping and giggling the entire way. _

_By now my toes and fingers were frozen, and the blocks that didn't seem so far at first turned out to feel like miles. The storm had blown in so quickly, the sidewalks had yet to be shoveled, and in front of Morris Bakery I almost fell. _

_Before I hit the cement I was in the air. Rather, I was suddenly lifted by a pair of very strong arms and met with a pair of very blue eyes. Your father was a charming man, Edward, but he was also a tad cheesy. He asked if I needed a lift and then said something about going his way. I couldn't help but laugh._

_He ended up carrying me the rest of the way to the hotel. We stayed in the lobby talking all night, and a whirlwind of a month later we were engaged. After I graduated from college we were married, but that much you already knew._

_Years later your sister was born, and then you, this great bundle of joy, came along. Oh, Edward, I wish you could have seen the look on his face when the doctor announced, "It's a boy!" I've never seen a man as elated as he when he held you for the first time! Since then, you were two peas in a pod. Do you remember? I hope you do. I hope you've been able to hold onto, at the very least, something good. He loves you so, so much._

_Your father was passionate, which was one of his many wonderful qualities I'd fallen for. Sometimes he was so passionate about something he blocked everything else out, giving it his total and complete attention—like the time the two of you worked on your fifth grade science project. Remember? Rose and I jokingly hung the "Dad's and Edward's Place" sign on the basement door because it seemed like the two of you had moved down there._

_He's worked hard and is utterly brilliant, too. The man I know is kind and gentle and he loves you and your sister dearly. More than life itself. It's just about killed him not to be able to be around you both. Your father would never leave you intentionally, Edward. He was ill, and in the end, we decided that instead of watching the man you looked up to and adored deteriorate into one who was so unrecognizably frail was far worse than the lie that we'd separated. _

_Slowly, he removed himself from your and your sister's life, to save you both from humiliation and heartache. I still question, and always will, our decision to protect you from this. You're both so much stronger than I gave you credit for, but your father begged me not to tell you the truth. _

_He has a condition called Tartarosic Syndrome, a rare organic brain disease. It blurs the lines between what is real and what is not, but also over time weakens the affected physically but even more so mentally. This is not by any means the clinical definition, of course, but imagine being locked inside your mind at the darkest of times without the capability or even the will to fight your way out. It's truly paralyzing and incurable._

_The onset is sporadic until it slowly and agonizingly takes over completely, leaving just a shell of a human being. There are only two other documented cases. Unfortunately not enough research had been able to be obtained to provide a course of action. We've tried antipsychotic medications as well as a number of other methods, but nothing is working. In some cases it seems to make his condition worse._

_As far as we know, which is very little, TS is not hereditary. Before your father was officially diagnosed he knew something was very wrong. He took blood samples from both you and Rose and compared your DNA to his own. He made it his life's work to ensure both of you are healthy, and you are. From the information he's gathered, Edward, you and Rose are safe from this. _

_Please know that you and your sister will not have to suffer like your father has. _

_I'm sure you have a great deal of questions and since you're reading this either those questions have been answered or I'm unable to give them to you. If the latter is the case, contact Jasper Whitlock. His telephone number is enclosed. You may or may not remember him, but he's a colleague of your father's and has been a godsend throughout. _

_I love you, so very much. You are my heart and my soul. You've grown into a beautiful young man and I could never ask for anything more. I hope one day you might understand and forgive us both. _

_Love with everything I have,_

_Mom_

When I was a kid my father took me on outings. It was just him and me for a few hours on random afternoons. They were always a surprise. I called them trips, he called them making memories.

While he lived with us he and my mom would allow me to think I was going to school. Like any usual day, I'd get dressed, eat breakfast, pack my backpack. But after he dropped Rose off at her school, he'd turn around in his seat and say something like, "Today is a really good day to make a memory, Edward," and I'd all but explode with excitement.

We fished or went to the movies. Sometimes he'd take me to a museum or when the carnival came to town, we'd go there.

After he moved out, he'd show up in the morning or at times, pull me out of school. Over the intercom, the secretary's voice called into whatever class I was in asking that I pack up my things for dismissal. Not once had I hesitated.

My father waited in the office for me, and as he led me toward the exit he would say, "When I woke up this morning I thought it was an ordinary day. But Edward, just look around. Smell that air." He squeezed my shoulder, and I was positive there was something different about it, the air. "Obviously, it means extraordinary things are bound to happen. I'm sorry I almost missed it!"

I was twelve the last time I went on a trip with him.

I'm not angry at my mother for the lie she and my father concocted; I'm furious that she died not knowing that it doesn't matter.

I scrub the wetness from my eyes, exit my car, and walk toward Jasper. We simply stare at each other for seconds, and I could ask him to lay everything out for me now, tell me every fucking thing he knows, but I don't have it in me. I need to see my dad.

* * *

Carlisle sits, minutely rocking, in that sole chair of his room. Hands still clasped together between his knees, shoulders still drawn in as if he's guarding himself from a chill. But as I look up at him, for the first time in what feels like a millennia, all traces of hate are gone. I want him back.

"Dad," I say, crouched at his feet. Looking back at me, the bleakness in his eyes lodges in my stomach and slices my skin, but I repeat my request anyway, "_Eventually_, I want to take you out of here so you can stay with me. A day or two." His brow furrows, and I know he's not ready, not right now, but my mother's letter only confirms it's what I need to do. For him, _and_ me.

So his disease is debilitating, incurable. I don't really care. If I think too much about how I could possibly look after my father properly it won't happen, but maybe if he comprehends that I need him as a father he'll come around and taking care of him won't be impossible. It's utterly absurd, I know.

"You've been crying," my father says, and behind me I hear Jasper shuffle his feet. "Can't stay with you because I'm not good."

I shake my head. "You are, Dad. Mom wrote a letter to me a long time ago. She explained some things. It's not your fault."

He twists in his chair, turning his head away from me. "Mommy didn't know everything, Edward. My Esme didn't know."

"The suit, you mean. Your secret work?" I say, and his eyes go wide. "It's alright. Jasper told me all about it."

He groans like he's in pain, but he gets louder until he's screaming. He moves out of his chair faster than I could ever imagine, charging Jasper. My father pushes at Jasper's chest, beats him with his fists, yelling _Why? Why?_ but my father is weak and Jasper just stands there, eyes closed, and takes it.

As I pull him from Jasper, he cries, "You said you wouldn't tell! They'll hurt him, _too_!"

It's chaos.

My fist connects with Jasper's face as my dad screams from behind. Carlisle is shouting things I can't understand, because the blood is pounding in my ears, heart pounding in my chest.

"You fucking prick!" I spit. He's splayed on the floor, blood running down the side of his mouth. "You fucking _know_ who killed my mother, goddammit? Goddammit, Jasper! Who? FUCKING TELL ME, JASPER!" His fragile throat's in my hand. One squeeze is all it will take, and I'm breathing so hard it burns.

Jasper gasps for air, his face turning redder, nearly purple. I don't loosen my grip.

"You're gonna play games with me?" I shout. "You have no idea, Jasper. No idea what I'll do to you."

Carlisle drops to his knees beside me, begging me to stop. "Please, _please_!" And for a second I think he's encouraging me. He pounds his hands on his legs. "You stop this now!" he demands. I slap Jasper and then again—his cheek already beginning to bruise.

The door to Carlisle's room flies open and I'm picked off the floor. "I'll fucking kill you," I promise, the growl in my voice rumbles in my throat. I let the orderlies whom I could easily overtake, drag me out to the hall, because if they don't I'll take this pathetic fucker's life right in front of my father. I will.

I swear to God I'll kill him.

* * *

a/n: Tartarosic Syndrome is not a real syndrome nor is it based on any one. The name, tartaros, or tartarus, does come from somewhere, though.

Thank you for reading - I'd really, really love to know your thoughts.


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing, and adding to your alerts and favorites list! I'm overwhelmed by the positive response this story gets with each chapter.

A few weeks back, DC was nominated for TLS's fics of the week, and it was voted into the top 5! How cool is that?! Thank you!

Dear person who helped immensely with a part of this chapter, you were very spot on, so thank you, thank you. Here's hoping it's not _total_ crap. :)

* * *

**Chapter 16**

I know these things to be true: Jasper is a manipulative liar; only pieces of my family remain; I need Bella more than I want to need anyone; I am losing my shit.

The pale sun has nearly set by the time I reach Bella's apartment. I walked around the city for hours, at first livid, craving to brutally hurt someone. Frightening thoughts of grabbing any scum I'd come across only so I could feel the bones in his body splinter and break at my hand. There was one—they're not hard to find.

He was standing on the corner of 3rd and Freedman strung out or coming down. His clothes were stained and torn, too big for his emaciated frame, and his head and arms twitched as if he shook away an electric shock. I stared at him, wondering how far he'd go to get what he needed. Would he steal? Harm someone innocent? Break into someone's home if instructed then murder one and almost the other? Perhaps. So then I'd be doing someone a favor by ridding this world of him, I told myself. Whether it was vindication or prevention it didn't matter; for a moment I was doing the right thing. I took a step toward him. Flexed my fingers and rolled my neck, convinced that the feeling of his flesh splitting against my knuckles would solve a problem. I was within a few feet of him and like a fucking psychopath I was practically bouncing to get my hands on him. I went to grab the collar of his jacket and Bella popped into my head. I couldn't save my mother or my sister, but I could save her. One less person to worry about hurting her. Justification. And then I dragged him between two buildings.

Looking down at the sidewalk outside her building, the rage I felt as I stared down that guy still lingers like poison.

He backed himself up against the brick wall, eyes wide, body shaking even more out of fear. For a second it was nothing but satisfaction to have this power over him, but then it hit me, hard. What would I say to Bella? She'd hate me and that's something I cannot bear. She'd tell me how wrong I was, and I wouldn't lie to her. I'll never lie to her. This wave of defeatism brought me to an abrupt halt. As if I was suddenly cast in cement, I couldn't move. The junkie ran away.

Everything I've done in the past year and a half wasn't solely to avenge my family. It's been about me.

I walked out of that alley, kept my head down and wandered in a state of incognizance, somehow ending up here - I don't _know_ what I'm doing.

"Hey!" Bella shouts, and my eyes shoot up in her direction. "Why are you all the way down there?" she says. She's all smiles and innocence, but her expression quickly fades into one of alarm. "I'm coming down."

* * *

I tell her everything. The letter from my mother, the scene in my father's room – his tone and the terrified look on his face. I tell her how I attacked Jasper and how close I came to finishing off a stranger.

Saying it aloud, I sound out of control. I am, I think, but Bella gives no indication she's disgusted or shocked. She continues to watch me, wait, listen as she kneels in front of me. I'm sitting on her couch, and she's holding my clutched hands, rubbing her thumbs over mine.

It's no wonder Jasper hadn't been honest with me. What would I have done if he'd told me everything from the beginning? The killers would be dead. I wouldn't have met Bella. Nothing would change the fact that my sister is in a coma, my mother gone, and my father ill. He's taken care of my father, carried out my mother's wishes, altered his life to accommodate mine. He could have chosen not to be in my father's room before, could have blamed my father's reaction on his syndrome. His piecemeal methods…

Jasper's preparing me.

I glance up at Bella. "I'm sorry," I say.

"For what?"

"I've pulled you into something that's bigger than I realized. Jasper kept it all from me for a reason, Bella. And after what I've confessed you shouldn't want to be anywhere near me."

"I'm a big girl, Edward. It's my choice to be with you." She lifts her eyebrows in challenge. I don't say anything. "What reason could he possibly have? I mean, I'd be pretty pissed, too."

"I don't know exactly, not yet anyway. I have to talk to him, that's if he'll talk to _me_."

"He will." I shrug. I know he will. "I'll be there with you."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea." I shake my head at that. At myself really, because look at me not arguing the point of her wellbeing and taking every little ounce of her I'm able. I want to encase her in armor and hide her away until this is over.

"Well, I am," she says, and then narrows her eyes, lifting herself up so we're almost at eye level. "I'm not going to let you pull some hero bullshit on me, understand? Whatever the truth is, I'm going to be there with you…You need me."

"Yeah, I know." I pull her forward and kiss her, inhale the sweetness of her perfume. "Maybe too much."

"I don't think it could ever be too much," she says. "I need you, too."

I nod. Along with a new car, I'd also purchased an apartment. A safer one. "Stay with me, then."

* * *

The right side of Jasper's face is bruised and swollen, his bottom lip scabbed. He looks even older now, tired and worn.

Bella winced when he walked through the door. I apologized. It hadn't taken any convincing from me for him to come over, but he's sitting on the opposite side of the room from me, close to the door. Bella hasn't let go of my hand since the moment security alerted me of his arrival.

Jasper's the one who suggested this place, though I realize now it was intentional. Who knows how far planned in advance. 24-hour security; safe room on the third level (which is clearly not such a surprise to him, as he claimed it was when we walked through), sound-proof, impenetrable windows, steel-reinforced entry door. I'm sure there are a few more amenities, but I've yet to discover them. Not Fort Knox, but enough to slow someone down. The apartments below aren't as paranoiac in their construction. Mine, however, was built for diplomats and mob kings.

It's unnerving.

"Would you like something to drink, Jasper?" Bella asks. She's been here all of an hour and already appears right at home. It's a flicker of a future.

"No, thank you," he says then looks at me and takes a deep breath. "Are you sure?" he asks, tipping his head toward Bella, which under any other circumstance, or yesterday, I'd find hilarious since he's the one who had me be nice to her in the first place. Besides, if his friend Alice is the real thing then he saw this coming.

Instead, I say, "I'll just tell her everything later anyway." She squeezes my hand; I squeeze hers in return, and how wonderfully strange it is to finally feel truly absolute about something, _someone_. "I wasn't expecting the turn of events that happened earlier. But you were, weren't you?"

"Yes," he says. "I don't fault you for the way you reacted. I'd have done the same thing." Jasper rubs the side of his forehead, the side untouched by my hand, and I wait. I remind myself that his reasoning must've only been for the sake of the magnitude of the situation. But if it's not… "I'm not sure where to start."

"The beginning would be great."

"Edward," Bella whispers.

"Okay," Jasper says. "What you've been able to accomplish while wearing your suit have been…the basics. Right now you can influence elements, rearrange the molecular structure of things at your will, and of course there's the speed and strength. What you _will_ be able to do is much more, exercise the suit's true purpose. Eventually, after intense practice and further unpleasant reactions, you're going to defy the laws of physics."

"I thought I already had."

"Technically, yes, but I'm not referring to Newton. Edward, because of your suit, the design and configuration of it and _you,_ which is the only way this is possible, _you _will have the ability to bend through the dimension allowing entry into a parallel world."

"What? That's…insane."

"Is it? Why is it so hard to believe considering what you can do in the suit?" he says, waving his hands. "What you've done _out_ of it, but I swear it's true. There _is_ an alternate universe."

"He'd be able to go to another time?" Bella asks.

"Not another time, but another place that runs analogous to this one. You see, in this other dimension time is the same. The same year, month, everything right down to the millisecond, but conditions are different. You both would be Bella and Edward but you could be leading very different lives, or similar, though it's likely your paths would intersect at some point."

"How do you know this?" I ask. "If it's only me who's capable."

"It's been done before," Jasper says.

"By whom?" He looks down at the floor, his expression that of someone with practice. "You."

After a pause he says, "Yes." Bella and I glance at each other. She's bewildered, as am I, so I ask him to continue in a calm voice regardless of my thinning tolerance. Bella must sense this—she releases my hand, placing it on my knee and shifts closer to me. But I can't help but wonder what's running through her head. He repeats the story of when he and my father worked at SBS, for Bella's sake I assume, of how my father concocted the living fibers that only worked with my DNA. He then adds, "But that was the second suit. Mine was the first.

"There was no way Carlisle would've experimented on his son," he says, more to Bella than to me. "I wasn't aware he'd made one for Edward until later, after our colleague had proven himself to have less than honorable intentions."

"Who? What colleague?" I ask, and Jasper hesitates. "Just spit it out, Jasper. I'm trying to be patient, I really am."

He touches his cheek. "And I appreciate that. You deserve the entire truth, but forgive me for being a little apprehensive. Promise me, and Bella, that you'll not act on impulse."

Simultaneously, Bella and I say that I won't, and then she turns to me, repeating, "You won't." But it's more of a confirmation, for her, and I tell her I'm fine.

"All right. Peter Joham…" As soon as Jasper mentions his name I stiffen. I haven't come face to face with him, yet, but knowing what I do nothing Jasper is about to say will be less than disturbing. "…he worked with us assisting in the creation of the suit. He was aware of the potential of its power, and had seen first hand what I'd done in it, but not the bend. He has no idea about being able to walk through the dimension.

"The three of us were enamored by what we'd discovered, but then Peter became obsessed with it. He'd spent hours in the lab, had grown secretive and then violent. His erratic behavior caused him to be fired. Neither Carlisle or I had heard from him for over a year. One day, out of the blue he showed back up, demanding to see the research. Even though Peter was involved from the beginning he didn't have every piece to the equation, therefore he couldn't replicate the suit on his own. This is something we'd known all along, so we weren't overly concerned by his disappearance.

"We had no clue how troubled Peter was until he came back. There was something off about him, more so than before he'd left. He threatened the both of us, and then when he saw how Carlisle had deteriorated, mentally, it was like a bomb exploded. He'd already searched the lab, my home, and then he went to yours."

I think I'm going to be sick. "Was it him?" I ask, my voice surprisingly calm. "Was it Joham?"

"People under him, but I don't know whom specifically," he says, gravely. "I'm so sorry, Edward."

"He couldn't get anything out of my father, so he tried to get it out of my mother, but she didn't know. She was expendable to him, and so was Rose… Why didn't he come after you like he did them?"

"He did," Jasper says, and then stands, lifting his pant leg above his ankle revealing a titanium prosthetic. "Right above the knee."

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and Bella adds her sympathies as well.

"Yes, well…" he says.

For months I have planned what I'd do to the people responsible. All along I've been certain taking care of them would be a slow and painful process, something equally as horrific as the pain they inflicted on my family. I've been prepared to act immediately. Go at them, waste no time, spare no one. But now that I have the knowledge I've been waiting for, for what seems like forever, I'll still cause pain, and suffering. It will be slow, but it will not be equal. The difference is that I will take as long as I need to ensure no one is missed.

It is not an easy thing to control the malevolent urge to begin ripping Joham to shreds, but somehow I do. Those frightening thoughts from earlier have crept their way back into my head, except now they are not so frightening to me. My skin pricks and my heart thumps against my ribcage, as if my body is telling me to put the suit on, as if to say _Come on. Let's play_. And how tempting it is.

I don't see the carpet beneath my feet; I may as well be wearing a blindfold. My vision is black as I think about what Jasper has said so far. But there's more, this much I know. It is not hard to figure out that Joham's arrival to Delphian has everything to do with me. What Jasper needs to tell me now is why he didn't destroy my suit in the first place. Why send an invitation for him to come here? Why put Bella and her family in harm's way? There is an alternate reality, which is not a mere incidental.

Beside me, Bella shivers. "Are you okay?" I ask. I hate that she's involved in this. Why she's not running as far away from me right now, I'll never understand.

She clears her throat. "Yeah. Are you?"

"I'm…processing." I watch Bella watch me. _Stay away from me. Don't ever leave me._ "I won't let anything happen to you," I tell her in a near whisper. Another beat passes and she gives nothing away, nothing that anyone else could decipher, but her eyes are still worried and her mouth still tight beneath the braveness she projects. She turns back to Jasper.

"What else?" she says. Perhaps she's braver than I thought.

* * *

Jasper stayed well into the night. He probably would have stayed for hours more if I hadn't noticed the dark circles underneath Bella's eyes, but even more, there is only so much a person can hear before becoming completely overwhelmed. Besides, I want to ask Jasper a few things we did not cover, when Bella isn't around.

He didn't destroy my suit for the possibility that Joham may one day develop one of his own. Jasper has _bent_, as he likes to call it, a few times. It's where he's hidden the blueprints. I asked him where his suit is now. "Gone. It seems to work best when you are at your strongest. As I've aged, so has it. And missing part of one leg has been a detriment to its potential."

He then went on about the timing of leaving me my suit: immediately following the news of Joham's arrest in the abduction of those women. Jasper thinks they were future lab rats, if not already. After Jasper restated how deranged Joham is, we came to our first united response which is that Bella is never to be alone.

When she is away from me, her father—being the Commissioner and all—will have to suffice. She's not happy at my suggestion that she take a break from school. "It'll draw too much attention," she noted. "Shouldn't I go on with my normal routine?" She wants to tell her dad, but I worry the more people who know, the more people will be in danger. I said, "Let's wait." This is one of the things I need to discuss privately with Jasper.

As far as why Jasper hadn't isolated me when he anonymously introduced the suit, why he pushed me into Bella's life, his response was matter of fact. He said it would have happened anyway.

Bella sleeps beside me, though not soundly. I try to be still as possible—my body is tense and my mind spinning. Her grip on my t-shirt hasn't loosened, even when it seemed she might have finally relaxed a little.

I've taken my eyes off her for no more than a few minutes at a time. I've needed to touch her almost constantly. How am I going to be able let her go, even if it's to her father's home where the known security measures are comparable to that of all the top city officials when I have no idea what Joham's plans are? If he's here now, he's ready to initiate whatever those plans may be.

Bella stirs, again. Her brow furrows, and I wonder how bad her dreams will be now. If she'll ever be able to sleep for more than a couple hours again. She deserves better than this.

I whisper that I'm sorry and shift down, turn on my side so that my face is inches from hers. I glide my fingers over her eyebrow, gently down the side of her face to her chin. I trace her bottom lip and then kiss her forehead. She releases her hold on my shirt, pressing her palm flat against my chest, and her eyes flutter open.

"I didn't mean to wake you," I say, but she just stares at me. In this dark room where the familiarity of it and everything else in this temporary cell are absent, there is Bella. Her hand on my chest and the movement of her leg tangling with mine cocoons us, making it easy to forget there is nothing more than now. "You should try to go back to sleep," I tell her, but it's a boldfaced lie. I want her. I want to do things to her that will make her scream my name and will leave her shaking.

She says nothing, and I slide my hand up underneath her shirt, dragging the tips of my fingers over her spine.

She inches closer, presses her mouth to mine and rolls on top of me, pinning me down. She takes her shirt by its hem and slips it up over her head. I don't ask if she's sure, if this is what she wants, too. When I look at her there is no fear or hesitation in her eyes. It's an indescribable yes.

"C'mere." With my left hand I dig my fingers into her thigh and with my right I pull her to me by the back of her neck. She kisses me slowly, but it doesn't last long. Within seconds our clothes are tossed aside and we're skin to skin.

Hers is like a layer of silk over mine. I want to kiss every inch of her body, put my mouth on every curve, suck tender spots, watch her rise, feel her tremble at my touch, if the need to be inside her wasn't so strong. I flip her onto her back anyway, she wraps her legs around my waist. The tip of my dick right there. One thrust and I'm inside.

I move down, grazing my thumb over her nipple, palm her breast and then squeeze it while I suck on it. The gasps and moans that come out of her mouth are what I want to hear every night before I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up. The harder I suck her nipple the more she pushes her hips against me, leaving a spot on my stomach wet and warm. Bella grabs my hair and guides me up. She smiles at me, and then I fuck her.

We're not quiet. It's dirty and sweaty. Our teeth clank together and our kisses are rough, but goddamn she feels good. She digs her nails into my back—there'll be angry red welts there tomorrow and I don't care. She could leave deep scars and I wouldn't care, because this is all there is.

Bella's lips are swollen, her hair damp and knotted from my fingers. She's a sweaty mess and she's fucking beautiful, but she's more beautiful when her mouth parts wider as she comes. She comes hard and I feel everything, and then I let go.

About twenty minutes after my legs have stopped shaking and my heart has returned to its normal pace, I have the need to be inside her again. I pull her on top of me, hold her hip with one hand, cup her face with the other, and this time it's slow.

I'd like to think that we have all the time in the world, but I'm not sure that we do. I want to tell her I love her, because when else will I be able to say it so that it doesn't sound like it's only out of desperation?

So I sit up, bring her closer and put my mouth next to her ear. "I love you, Bella." She doesn't say it back, and that's okay. I tell myself it is okay, because she knows that I do.

* * *

Bella is downstairs talking to her father on the phone. I'm still in bed, still naked underneath the sheet, waiting for her to come back. It's beginning to get cold where she lay just a few minutes ago.

She slipped into her underwear and my t-shirt after he called. I suppose I should at least put my boxers on, but then that's is only opening the door wider to this day. I'm not ready to close it on last night just yet.

I think it's raining outside, the sounds are muffled and I'm not used to the thick walls of this place. The curtains are thick and drawn so this room is barely illuminated. It could be 5 a.m. or it could be dusk. But it's neither. I'm fully aware of the time as I'm meeting Jasper in an hour.

In an hour, things will be different. Strategies will be developed and soon after I will wear the suit again. Part of me wants to go downstairs and ask Bella to hang up and call her father later. Ask her to come back to bed.

Fifty-six minutes.

When there are only fifty minutes of this time left, Bella walks into the bedroom. I sit up. She switches her phone from one hand to the other before setting it on the bare dresser.

"What is it?" I ask and turn down the sheet.

She crawls in next to me. "There's going to be a gala. Peter Joham is invited and I'm expected to go to be alongside my father and mother."

"When?"

"Two weeks."

"No, I don't think so."

"Edward. You can't keep me under lock and key."

"I won't dangle you in front of him either. How are you not terrified right now?"

"I heard what you said last night," is all she says and then she's quiet for a moment. My pulse beats like a drum in my ears. "Lots of people there will be there. Trust me, I don't _want_ to go or be anywhere near him. If we decide to tell my father who you are then, I don't know, we'll rethink it."

"I can't imagine your father's okay with this."

"He's not, but not everyone in the Mayor's office believes the allegations against Joham were true. So, for appearance's sake…My dad said he's come to Delphian under the pretense of making a fresh start."

"And what better way to show off the city's newest philanthropist than a big party. You don't believe for one second that you're going to this thing alone, do you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want to be held up like a prisoner Edward, but I sure as hell don't want to be away from you either."

Joham probably knows this, too.


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

I hear her as I suffocate. Frightened, confused, whatever she is saying, I try to listen. Focusing on Bella through the pulsating static in my ears and the tightness in my lungs is not easy and perhaps a mistake.

On the floor, I am gasping and she is terrified. Her shrieks give it away. And though I warned her what to expect, asked her not to watch, she refused. Her stubbornness is agonizing. I have to remember that Jasper is here and he'll talk her through these short minutes while I burn from the inside out. He will tell her to wait, because this is what I've asked him to do. She will be fine.

It will be over soon.

I've learned to control the instinctive fear that I am dying in these first few moments, but this afternoon it is difficult. With her here the change in me feels as though the worst will never end. Steady, I tell myself. Almost there.

Block out her voice, the picture of her face in my mind. It is all right to become consumed.

There goes my heart. The thump thump thump. Yes, there it is. Familiar and wanted, missed oh so much. Wait, Bella, wait. I'm coming.

I rise to my feet, loll my head back, as the euphoria settles in. She's silent now. Electricity rushes through me, encases me.

Alive and well, Edward. You are alive.

Looking down at Bella, I smile. She stares at me with those eyes of hers, the ones that belong to me now. What a shame she cannot see the expression of pure elation on my face beneath my mask. This lucidity has been absent far too long.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I say to her and her forehead crinkles and then I laugh. I pull her to me, but she is wary. Bella doesn't share my current state of confidence. "Are you all right?"

She nods as Jasper says my name, and I apologize for scaring her.

"Edward," Jasper repeats. I'd like him to go away for a moment.

I raise my hand to him and address Bella. "It's fascinating. What I told you last night is a hundred times more right now." I press her hand to my chest. "Do you feel that? That's you."

Bella's face relaxes, finally. Her mouth curves up just slightly, and I am drunk.

I turn to Jasper. "Joham dies today."

"Hold on, Edward," he says. "That is not what we decided."

I shrug, still clutching Bella to me. "Why wait? I see no reason why I shouldn't take care of him now rather than later. He can't stop me, Jasper." I lean in close to Bella's ear. "No one can," I tell her then chuckle as I sweep a finger down her neck.

She pulls back. Her wariness has returned, and she releases my grip on her. With her arms folded around her stomach, she steps away. Is she angry with me?

Tilting my head, I watch her move to the other side of the room, her back facing me.

Jasper cuts in, obscuring my view of Bella. "You have no way of knowing that, Edward. We're sticking to our plan."

Our plan. _Ha_! Our plan is sophomoric.

I am to keep status quo with Bella's father – receive access to police records. _I don't need them_. Scout Joham, learn who he is dealing with now. Track his movements over the past years. _We're not_ _FBI_. We are to scour every resource to see if there are any similar acts as only I can accomplish that may have occurred elsewhere. _He hasn't replicated the suit_. We are to test me for weaknesses. _I have none._ Jasper will show me how to bend so that I can destroy the blueprints. _That could be interesting_.

And then of course there is the matter of clearing my name. Angela Weber's waffling articles continue to print, and there are blips of my ability to elude police on the news, according to Jasper. It's all irrelevant now, anyway.

Jasper has shared this understanding of invincibility, so he should realize that allowing Joham to go on, to be a threat for the sake of caution is absurd. Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe I am better at this than he ever was.

Bella has yet to face me. Well, this is not good.

"Bella," I say and she turns. "I'm going to ask you to witness something that may seem a bit horrifying but you'll have to trust me, all right?" She says nothing. "Do you trust me?"

She nods, barely, and I smile. My god she is something. "Jasper, would you please go to the safe room and bring down one of the guns you've so graciously stocked up there?"

Her mouth goes slack, and Jasper asks, "Why, Edward?" He's annoyed.

"Because Bella needs to see for herself that I am impervious to these things." I glance over at him. "_Please_."

I now notice when I hadn't before the trouble Jasper has ascending stairs, because of his prosthetic. It's unfair and incredibly unfortunate he was unable to retain the suit's effectiveness as I have.

"What do you think you're doing, Edward? Am I supposed to shoot you so you can prove you can't be hurt?" she says.

"I was going to ask Jasper, actually."

"You don't need to do that. There's no point," she says, narrowing her eyes.

"There is. You've only read about me or have seen televised accounts after the fact. I need the doubt erased from your mind." I cross the room so that there is merely a small, inescapable space between us. "I know you're frightened, but I _will_ keep you safe."

"I don't doubt that you'll try."

"_Succeed_. This is why you need to see first hand," I say, keeping my voice light, though it does no good.

Bella shakes her head as she looks toward the ceiling.

"What is it?"

"You're different than you were that last time I saw you like this."

I am. I'm better. "Yes. You have no idea of the conviction that courses through me, and I wish you could understand." I take her face into my hands. "I'm alive with it. Every cell of my body _knows_ he'll be no match for me, Bella. This could all be over by tonight." She doesn't believe me. "Touch me," I ask, and she hesitates before sliding her hands up my chest. "Can't you feel how strong it is? This power? You're in there too, now."

"Edward."

"Lift my mask. Now look at me. Do I look worried to you?"

Bella searches my eyes. "You look too confident."

"That's because I _am_." My vision blurs. Before I snap my eyes shut I lean in to kiss her, glide my tongue along hers, but regretfully too soon, I need pull away. I tug down my mask.

Note to self: detachment reaction occurs faster when a piece of the suit is removed shortly after putting it on. Everything I've forgotten after taking off the suit sleep in a pocket of my brain, instantly awakening when I am like this. I'll need to tell Jasper.

He clears his throat behind us.

"It's going to be fine," I whisper to Bella, sincerely.

* * *

"Would you please cover your ears, Bella?"

"Edward, it's—"

Bella flinches as Jasper fires off another shot. Like the first dozen, at the flick of my wrist the bullet melts as soon as it leaves the chamber. There is a small puddle of steel on the living room floor. Bella keeps glancing toward the front door, and I remind her again that the apartment is soundproof.

"This is ridiculous," she says, and Jasper lifts his brow in agreement. "Tiny bullets, Edward. Big deal. What if more than one person comes at you with…machine guns or, I don't know, explosives?"

"Have any grenades handy?" I ask Jasper. He replies with a curt "No" as Bella rolls her eyes and huffs. "What is wrong with the two of you?"

"_Us?_ What's wrong with _you_?" Bella screeches, and I'm a little taken aback. "This isn't a joke. You're acting like you're about to go swat a couple flies."

"She's right," Jasper says.

"Bella, I manipulate properties of inanimate objects – several at once, so the worry of a few guys with guns is unnecessary. Before anyone can pull a pin or fire a weapon I'll destroy it. And Jasper, what about the whole immortality speech? 'When you wear the suit you are, essentially, immortal.' Was that a line you fed me?"

"Hardly. But, _again_, we don't know what we're up against," he says.

"Then what would you suggest?" I ask.

He laughs. "Stick with what we discussed this morning. _Train_. I swear it's like I have to speak to two different people."

"Was it not like this for you, Jasper?" Bella interjects.

Jasper looks at her then his eyes flick to me. "No," he says, shaking his head. His lips purse as he slides the gun's safety into place. He studies the pistol in his hand for a while.

"Jasper?"

"Circumstances weren't the same," is all he says before walking toward the stairs. "Do you need to check in with your father, Bella?"

She glances at her watch and confirms that she does, though I think we both realize he'd like to speak to me privately. I tell her I'll be back then follow Jasper up to the safe room.

I am thrumming with so much energy it's hard to contain. I need to run, stretch my muscles. Channel it into taking down Joham slowly, tortuously. But a thread of something light snakes through my veins; it's an interesting juxtaposition to the odium that took root long ago. I laugh to myself, thinking perhaps I'll snap Joham's neck while grinning.

"What's so funny."

"It's nothing," I answer. "Talk. Explain to me why you and Bella are so apprehensive."

He punches a code into the keypad next to the wall safe, securing the gun with the others. Inside this room there are monitors which capture all activity inside the apartment as well as the building, and outside too. I watch Bella pace as she clutches her phone to her ear.

"The suit's heightening your emotions. If anything I assumed that being with Bella would drive you to be more focused, not so audacious. Look, you deserve some happiness in your life but don't let it become a consequentially grave distraction."

"Bella is not a distraction," I confirm. I don't know what her father says to her, but she smiles then hangs her hand on the back of her neck. She shakes her head then nods, seeming to say "I will." "She's good for me, and I was only trying to show her she doesn't need to worry."

"Oh, I know, but keep it in check, Edward. We only have two weeks."

Throughout the day (trapped inside, which proves exceedingly frustrating as I'd still like to break free but I've listened like the obedient pupil I have to be) Jasper and I complete a basic routine of recorded experiments, involving everything from destroying to rebuilding a variety of things in the apartment then moving on to outside. Bella laughs as I fracture a coffee mug that one of the security guards drinks from.

At night we move on to bigger things: stalling out a chain of cars travelling west on Continental, for one. From my vantage point above, trailing Bella and Jasper traverse the baffled crowd on the sidewalk is daunting. She was out of my sight when I took my place up here and she'll be out of it again in another few moments.

She has been forefront in my mind for the past twenty-four hours, and while she is not a distraction she is a priority, one I don't know how to manage.

Tomorrow morning Bella and I are visiting Rose, but tonight she is going to her parent's home. I don't like it, but I also don't know if it will be worse for her to see how I react when I take off my suit.

* * *

After the pain subsides, after my stomach has been violently emptied, my mind is blank. No spark, no fuzzy images of what occurred, just a black hole.

Jasper tells me I've come around quicker than the last time when he found me naked and curled into a ball on my bedroom floor, which is progress I suppose, but the loss of memory is still crippling.

He verbally recounts the day before then shows me video. I'm hearing about and watching a stranger. As he draws blood from my arm, I tell him we have to try again, that it's the only way. He agrees.

It's just before lunch and I park in the sparsely filled lot of the hospital. I promised to buy Bella a meatball sub – her favorite, apparently – for being a "cocky show-off" last night, once we leave. I have no explanation other than what Jasper has told me. She's forgiven me, and I'm not sure what I would do without her.

No matter how many times I walk through the doors of the hospital, I expect to see a change in Rose. It never happens.

I didn't bring the letter our mom had written her; maybe I should have.

Bella drops my hand as we step into Rose's room. She takes the lead by talking to Rose about the weather and what a pretty shade of blonde hair she has. Bella animatedly chats to my sister as if she's not carrying on a one-sided conversation. It's both warming and disheartening, and I wonder what she might be like in an alternate world. She's happy there - I know she is.

"Your brother is awfully quiet this morning," Bella says, rubbing lotion on Rose's hands.

I stand at the foot of her bed. "Hey, sis."

Bella caps the lotion then turns her head, waiting for me to say more. I can't. I shake my head and face the opposite wall.

Bella's at my ear asking what's wrong. The staleness of this room is all I can smell. Not Bella's perfume or the scent of the yellow flowers on the table, just the blatant reminder of how everything in here stands still.

"What happens when this is all over?" I ask, my voice low. "I am in love with you and after I take care of Joham will we be together? What about Rose? Will she wake up? She will, won't she? Because that's what's supposed to happen?"

My hands shake. Bella laces her fingers with mine, steadies them. "The only thing I'm sure about is you and me."

And I'm sure about nothing. "I've never not known what to say to my sister before."

"That's okay."

"I've always known exactly what to say."

"It's okay, Edward."

"She can sense this. Me."

"We can come back."

"Will you stay here for a minute?"

"Sure," she says without question.

Down the hall and around the corner is a nurses' station. I have always avoided this area, and they've somehow not bothered me. It's been a good relationship. When I approach the desk I'm met with the kind of expression one wears if they were about to take your order for a cup of coffee.

"I'm Edward Cullen. My sister, Rose Cullen, is a patient. Is Dr. Gerandy here today?" My stomach churns but everything else inside hums as if all you need to do is snip a cord and I will take off. I take care not to leave a depression in the Formica.

She says, "In about five minutes he will be."

I ask to wait and take a seat on the vinyl bench across from her.

The few times I've been in Dr. Gerandy's office were in the very beginning of Rose's stay. The obligatory décor has not changed. It is stagnant in here, too, and I wonder if his life outside the hospital has any life to it at all.

"I don't want to hear your opinion about her condition. I want you to tell me the specifics of where she is now and where she will be."

"Edward," he says. Dr. Gerandy leans forward, placing his hands on his desk. "There is no moving forward. Her body is being kept alive by machines. Rose shows no brain activity. She is not going to come out of this coma." He is not kind with his words nor is he gentle. He's given me exactly what I've asked and he waits for a response. He stares at me without emotion though there is empathy in his eyes.

"Thank you." I nod then stand, and he doesn't attempt to stop me as I walk out the door. This is not the first time he has said these things to me, but this is the first time I've listened.

* * *

The past few nights the sky has held wisps of clouds and the glow of city lights. Tonight, through my window I watch a silent movie of preoccupied souls. We live within a dome of pretense and not a single one of them is the wiser. Many of them will benefit from what I will do. Receive a gift they'll not know they received, and continue on. It's not fair.

"Are you ready to do this again?" Bella asks.

She's sitting on the edge of my bed; Jasper waits downstairs. The suit is in my hands, and I wonder how I'll behave this time. Jasper has told me I've been erratic, which has been consistent with the reactions. Today, for instance, I've only gotten out of bed a couple hours ago.

Facing Bella now, I lean back against the wall. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

I hesitate. "Do you think I'm replacing my family with you?"

"No? Why would you ask that?" she says.

"Am I so selfish I'd prolong someone's pain for the sake of my own needs?"

Her brow crinkles. "I don't understand."

"Before you I hadn't truly thought about any other option for Rose. I don't want to think about it now, either, but if I love her I have to."

"Edward," she says and moves to stand.

I clutch the material, feel it spark against my skin. "I don't want to say goodbye. Tell me I don't have to."

Bella's eyes well up and she takes the suit from my hands. "You don't have to do anything tonight, Edward."

* * *

A/N: Still with me?

Thanks so much for reading.


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